r 


THE  GRAFTONS 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 

THE  HOUSE  OF  MERRILEES 

EXTON  MANOR 

THE  ELDEST  SON 

THE  SQUIRE'S  DAUGHTER 

THE  HONOUR  OP  THE  CLINTONS 

THE  GREATEST  OF  THESE 

THE  OLD  ORDER  CHANQETH 

WATER  MEADS 

UPSIDONIA 

ABINGTON  ABBET 

THE  GRAFTONS 

RICHARD  BALDOCK 


THE  GRAFTONS 


A  NOVEL 


BY 

ARCHIBALD  MARSHALL 


NEW  YORK 

DODD,  MEAD  AND  COMPANY 
1918 


COPYRIGHT,  1018,  BT 
DODD,  MEAD  AND  COMPANY,  INC. 


TO 
WILLIAM    HENRY   BATES 


206G152 


CONTENTS 


I  SURLEY  RECTORY    . 

II  A  QUESTION  OF  PATRONAGE  . 

Ill  IN  THE  GARDEN 

IV  A  PRESENTATION     . 

V  THE  SYSTEM   .... 

VI  THE  VICAR'S  DECISION   . 

VII  A  MORNING  RIDE   . 

VIII  THE  BISHOP  FINDS  A  MAN     . 

IX  THE  NEW  VICAR    . 

X  YOUNG  GEORGE  TAKES  ADVICE 

XI  THE   SECOND   LOVE 

XII  CAROLINE  AND  BEATRIX  . 

XIII  PARIS 

XIV  A  WEDDING     .... 
XV  AN  ACCIDENT 

XVI  MAURICE  .... 

XVII  How  THEY  TOOK  IT      . 

XVIII  MORE  OPINIONS 

XIX  AFTER  THE  WEDDING    . 

XX  CAROLINE'S  HOME-COMING 

XXI  A  VISIT 

XXII  THE  FAMILY  VIEW  . 

XXIII  AN  ENGAGEMENT    . 

XXIV  BARBARA 


1 

13 

27 

48 

63 

80 

93 

107 

121 

136 

151 

164 

178 

192 

207 

218 

235 

246 

261 

277 

291 

307 

318 

327 


INTRODUCTION 

THIS  novel,  though  it  is  complete  in  itself,  deals  with 
the  same  characters  as  "  Abington  Abbey."  Its  pub- 
lication gives  me  the  opportunity  of  replying  to  some 
criticisms  of  that  novel,  which  would  apply  equally  to 
this  one. 

The  criticisms  to  which  I  refer  have  to  do,  not  with 
faults  of  authorship,  to  which  it  would  not  be  becom- 
ing to  reply,  but  with  matters  for  which  an  apology,  or 
at  least  an  explanation,  may  be  offered. 

The  first  has  been  that  in  such  times  as  these  a  novel 
dealing  with  minor  currents  of  life  as  they  existed  be- 
fore the  war  is  something  of  an  anachronism.  Perhaps 
it  is.  In  the  fourth  year  of  the  war,  life  as  it  is  depicted 
in  these  two  novels  seems  already  far  away.  But  what 
is  a  novelist  of  manners  to  do,  granted  the  assumption — 
admittedly  debateable — that  he  is  to  go  on  writing 
novels  at  all?  He  must  either  write  about  the  war,  in 
one  or  other  of  its  far-reaching  effects  upon  life,  or  else 
he  must  leave  it  alone  altogether.  At  least,  those  are 
the  only  alternatives  that  I  have  felt, to  be  open  to  me; 
and,  after  having  written  one  novel  with  the  war  as  its 
deliberate  climax,  I  have  chosen  the  latter.  When  the 
war  is  over,  it  will  be  possible  to  take  its  adjustments 
into  account  as  affecting  everyday  life,  but  while  it  is 
going  on  I  do  not  think  it  is  possible.  It  looms  too  big. 
Minor  affairs  would  have  their  values  in  contrast  with 
it,  and  truth  would  suffer. 

If  further  justification  were  necessary,  I  think  I 
could  find  it  in  the  relief  it  brings  from  the  heavy 

fat 


x  INTRODUCTION 

weight  of  the  war  to  turn  one's  mind  to  those  happy 
days  in  which  life  presented  problems  of  less  appalling 
significance  than  now,  and  to  gain  the  comforting  as- 
surance that  those  days  will  come  again.  This  relief  I 
know  to  be  felt  by  readers  as  well  as  by  writers  of 
fiction. 

The  second  criticism  upon  which  I  should  like  to 
have  my  say  is  that  the  life  I  have  depicted  in  those 
of  my  novels  whose  scenes  are  laid  in  the  English  coun- 
try has  been  for  some  time  a  thing  of  the  past,  and 
after  the  war  may  be  expected  to  disappear  altogether. 
My  American  critics,  kind  as  most  of  them  are,  often 
seem  to  accuse  me  of  presenting  an  idyllic  picture  of  a 
state  of  things  which  is  based  upon  rotten  foundations, 
and  either  of  leaving  out  of  account  or  of  deliberately 
shutting  my  eyes  to  the  rottenness. 

I  should  not  accept  either  charge.  If  it  were  worth 
anybody's  while  to  read  through  those  novels  of  mine 
in  which  the  economic  conditions  of  English  landhold- 
ing  are  touched  upon,  I  think  he  would  find  in  the 
first  place  that  I  have  nowhere  defended  whatever  abuses 
may  still  attach  to  the  system,  but  have  frequently 
satirised  them;  and  in  the  second  place  that  economic 
questions  play  but  a  small  part  in  my  fictions. 

I  think  that  if  I  had  left  such  questions  alone  alto- 
gether there  would  be  no  criticism  to  meet.  I  could 
point  to  a  dozen  novelists  who  write  about  the  same 
sort  of  people,  living  in  the  same  surroundings,  as  I  do, 
against  whom  it  would  not  be  brought,  because  they 
take  the  conditions  for  granted,  and  their  readers  take 
them  for  granted.  If  I  touch  upon  such  questions  here 
and  there  it  is  because  they  interest  me  as  factors  in 
the  lives  of  my  characters ;  but  they  are  not  the  factors 
which  I  have  chosen  as  the  main  thesis  of  my  novels, 
except  in  one  instance.  In  "  The  Old  Order  Changeth  " 


INTRODUCTION  xT 

I  did  seek  to  reflect  the  renewal  that  is  always  going  on 
in  English  landowning,  and  always  has  gone  on  since 
the  beginning, — where  the  new  men  come  in  to  dispos- 
sess the  old ;  and  the  social  disturbance  that  takes  place 
at  each  such  upheaval,  before  the  new  become  absorbed 
in  their  turn  into  the  old. 

That  is  how  I  see  it.  Whatever  changes  may  have 
come  and  may  be  coming  in  the  economic  conditions  of 
landholding,  and  of  agricultural  labour,  the  life  of  the 
country  house,  large  or  small,  goes  on  much  the  same  as 
ever,  and  will  go  on.  Where  it  can  no  longer  be  sup- 
ported by  the  land,  it  is  supported  by  money  made  else- 
where. English  people  like  the  flavour  of  country  life, 
and  it  is  very  seldom  that  a  man  who  has  made  his  for- 
tune in  business  does  not  eventually  buy  or  rent  a  coun- 
try house.  Many  of  the  big  estates  in  the  United 
Kingdom  have  been  acquired  of  late  years  by  rich 
Americans,  who  buy  them,  I  suppose,  not  as  an  invest- 
ment in  property,  but  because  they  also  are  attracted 
by  the  flavour  of  English  country  life.  Country  houses, 
from  the  great  house  such  as  is  represented  here  by 
Abington  Abbey  down  to  the  little  house  such  as  Stone 
Cottage,  are  scattered  all  over  England,  and  I  should 
say  that  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten,  taking  large  and  small 
together,  the  people  who  inhabit  them  have  no  concern 
with  the  land,  in  the  way  of  drawing  any  part  of  their 
income  from  it,  or  of  dealing  with  it  as  a  productive 
agency.  They  have  not  come  "  back  to  the  land  "  in 
any  essential  sense;  they  have  only  come  back  to  the 
country.  I  believe  that  no  economic  changes  that  may 
affect  those  who  live  by  the  land,  whether  as  employers 
or  labourers,  will  much  affect  the  social  life  of  English 
country  houses. 

As  far  as  my  novels  are  concerned,  it  is  simply  a 
question  of  placing  the  sort  of  people  whom  I  know 


xii  INTRODUCTION 

best  in  the  surroundings  of  which  I  like  to  write. 
Where  my  characters  are  in  direct  contact  with  the 
business  of  the  land,  or  are  affected  by  it,  I  do  not 
shirk  reference  to  it,  as  far  as  it  seems  to  bear  upon 
the  main  purpose  of  my  story.  But  I  have  not  set  out 
to  present  an  all-round  picture  of  the  conditions  of 
country  life  in  any  of  the  fictional  districts  I  have 
chosen  as  the  scene  of  my  novels.  The  great  majority 
of  the  inhabitants  of  any  countryside  are  the  people 
who  work  on  the  land  and  live  by  it,  and  these  I  have 
left  out  almost  entirely ;  not  because  I  do  not  recognise 
their  actual  importance,  but  because  in  the  social  scene 
of  my  stories  they  would  not  appear,  or  only  in  a  very 
minor  degree.  It  may  be  an  unsatisfactory  state  of 
things  which  divides  people  off  in  that  way,  into  social 
strata,  but  it  undoubtedly  exists,  and  it  is  not  the  busi- 
ness of  a  novelist  to  justify  the  conditions  he  finds,  but 
to  reflect  them ;  unless,  of  course,  he  sets  out  to  make  a 
discussion  of  those  conditions  the  basis  of  his  story. 

As  for  my  family  of  Graftons,  who  are  real  and  dear 
to  me,  I  have  pictured  them  in  the  sunny  days  of  peace. 
But  in  my  vision,  at  least,  the  shadow  of  the  war  lies 
over  them,  as  it  does  in  retrospect  over  all  immediately 
pre-war  fictional  characters.  Dick  Mansergh  and 
Maurice  Bradby  would  have  been  fighting  since  the 
beginning;  Young  George  and  his  friend  Jimmy  would 
have  been  caught  up  in  it  by  this  time.  In  the  slaugh- 
ter of  bright  youth  that  is  going  on,  it  would  hardly  be 
expected  that  not  one  out  of  the  four  would  be  killed 
or  wounded.  George  Grafton  would  be  "  doing  some- 
thing," with  the  men  of  his  generation,  and  would 
hardly  be  able  to  regard  life  now  as  going  so  easily 
for  him  as  to  make  of  it  a  spiritual  danger.  The  girls 
must  have  known  sorrow  and  a  much  changed  outlook, 
unless  they  have  been  more  fortunate  than  most. 


INTRODUCTION  xiii 

Yes,  these  are  stories  of  the  past,  as  much  as  if 
they  had  been  written  about  people  living  forty  or  fifty 
years  ago  instead  of  four  or  five.  But  the  shadow  will 
pass  away,  and  life  will  emerge  again  into  the  sunshine. 
I  have  looked  forward,  in  writing  them,  as  much  as  I 
have  looked  back. 

ARCHIBALD  MARSHALL. 
March,  1918. 


CHAPTER  I 
SURLEY   RECTORY 

THE  old  man  lay  dying  at  last.  He  had  lingered  on 
for  months,  now  getting  a  little  better  and  giving  hope 
that  the  end  might  be  deferred  for  a  time,  now  sinking, 
so  that  it  seemed  as  if  it  had  come;  but  with  all  the 
alterations  in  his  state  moving  onwards  slowly  and 
surely  towards  his  rest.  Now  there  was  no  longer 
any  hope,  even  for  a  few  days  more.  His  two  daugh- 
ters and  his  son  sat  by  his  bedside,  waiting.  There  was 
nothing  to  do  but  to  wait,  and  to  think. 

It  was  towards  the  close  of  a  sunny  April  day.  The 
windows  of  the  large  eastward-facing  room  were  wide 
open  to  admit  the  fragrant  air.  The  birds  were  making 
a  great  to  do  in  the  Rectory  garden,  where  the  flowers 
of  early  spring  flaunted  their  bright  colours,  and  the 
lawns  answered  them  with  living  verdure.  Nearly  every 
morning  for  five  and  forty  years  the  old  man  who  was 
dying  had  arisen  from  the  bed  on  which  he  lay  to  look 
out  on  this  scene.  It  might  almost  be  said  to  have  been 
what  he  had  lived  for.  At  the  age  of  thirty-four,  still 
a  young  man,  with  a  wife  still  younger,  and  his  two 
little  girls,  he  had  come  to  this  assured  haven,  with  no 
thought  of  leaving  it  until  he  had  lived  his  life  out 
to  the  full,  where  there  was  everything  to  make  life 
what  he  wished  it  to  be. 

1 


2  THE    GRAFTONS 

There  was  the  pleasant  roomy  house,  so  admirably 
adapted  to  the  delights  of  a  quiet  home  life,  the  beau- 
tiful garden,  the  glebe  and  the  outbuildings  and  the  two 
or  three  cottages  which  added  what  was  almost  a  little 
farm  to  what  was  almost  a  country  mansion.  And 
there  was  the  substantial  income,  which  would  provide 
for  the  pleasures  and  hospitalities  as  well  as  the  respon- 
sibilities of  country  life. 

There  was  a  little  queer  eighteenth  century  church, 
hardly  more  than  a  meeting-house,  but  big  enough  to 
hold  such  proportion  of  the  three  hundred  or  so  in- 
habitants of  the  parish  of  Surley  as  would  make  a 
practice  of  attending  it.  It  was  to  serve  them  that  the 
Reverend  William  Cooper  had  been  appointed  to  the 
living  by  the  Bishop  of  the  Diocese,  and  the  house  and 
the  garden  and  the  glebe  and  the  substantial  income 
were  to  be  the  reward  of  his  service.  None  of  the  par- 
ishioners were  very  poor;  the  income  would  not  be 
greatly  depleted  by  the  calls  of  charity.  Nor  would  the 
time  of  their  ministrant  be  too  much  occupied  by  them, 
supposing  him  to  have  other  uses  to  which  to  put  it. 

He  had  done  his  work  and  taken  his  reward.  There 
had  never  been  any  question  in  his  mind  that  the  one  was 
not  fitted  to  the  other,  nor  any  sense  of  diffidence  be- 
fore others  who  were  spending  themselves  in  the  vine- 
yard with  material  reward  barely  existent.  It  had  been 
rather  the  other  way  about.  The  Rector  of  Surley  was 
almost  a  dignitary,  by  reason  of  the  reward,  and  carried 
himself  so  before  his  lesser  brethren,  but  not  with  arro- 
gance, for  he  was  an  amiable  likeable  man,  and  only 


SURLEY   RECTORY  3 

living  up  to  his  position.  These  things  were  so;  it 
was  not  even  necessary  to  excuse  them,  at  least  in 
those  days. 

An  amiable  likeable  man!  He  had  gone  about  his 
parish  for  five  and  forty  years,  until  there  were  only 
two  or  three  in  it  who  were  older  than  he.  Most 
of  them  now  living  he  had  christened  into  the  Church, 
many  he  had  buried,  some  he  had  married,  a  few  he 
had  helped,  as  one  helps  friends,  not  as  one  gives 
doles  to  the  poor.  He  had  touched  the  lives  of  all 
of  them,  and  they  had  been  satisfied  with  him.  It 
was  not  for  them  to  complain  of  the  established  or- 
der. These  things  came  from  above.  If  the  Rector 
of  Surley  lived  in  a  big  house,  with  a  thousand  a  year, 
the  Squire  lived  in  a  bigger  one,  with  ten  thousand  a 
year.  The  one  was  no  more  explicable  than  the  other, 
and  no  more  or  less  to  be  criticised.  What  might  come 
from  either  to  ameliorate  the  lot  of  the  less  fortunate 
would  depend  upon  what  sort  of  Squire  or  Rector 
there  might  be. 

Lying  in  his  bed,  as  he  had  lain  for  months  past,  or 
when  his  strength  had  rallied  sitting  wrapped  up  in 
a  big  chair  by  the  window,  the  old  man  must  some- 
times have  occupied  himself  in  casting  up  his  ac- 
counts preparatory  to  the  great  Audit  to  which  he 
would  soon  have  to  submit  them. 

His  life  had  been  kindly  and  useful.  He  had  never 
turned  a  deaf  ear  to  the  call  of  sympathy,  nor  shirked 
any  of  his  easy  duties,  as  easy  duties  are  sometimes 
apt  to  be  shirked  when  no  punishment  is  to  be  expected 


4  THE    GRAFTONS 

from  the  shirking  except  from  the  disapproval  of 
conscience.  Probably  he  had  given  more  thought  to 
the  episodes  of  his  long  life  as  they  affected  him- 
self and  his  family  than  to  the  affairs  of  his  min- 
istry. 

His  wife  had  managed  him  until  she  had  died,  and 
then  his  daughters  had  managed  him.  In  neither  case 
had  the  managing  been  done  in  such  a  way  as  to  irri-, 
tate,  or  to  lessen  his  dignity  before  the  world.  Per- 
haps he  had  hardly  known  that  he  had  been  managed,) 
for  he  had  had  his  own  way,  and  had  not  been  aware 
that  it  was  often  the  way  into  which  he  had  been  guided., 
If  both  wife  and  daughters  had  sometimes  raised' 
bristles  on  the  backs  of  neighbours,  it  had  been  his  part 
to  smooth  them  down,  and  he  had  gained  liking  by 
the  contrast  between  himself  and  them.  When  his 
wife  had  died  he  would  greatly  have  missed  her  sure 
capable  hand  in  the  affairs  of  life  if  his  daughters  had 
not  then  been  of  an  age  to  fill  her  place.  He  was 
a  man  to  be  dependent  upon  women,  and  to  draw  the 
best  that  was  in  them  towards  himself. 

The  guidance  exercised  by  women,  however,  seldom 
earns  love,  even  when  it  escapes  domination,  and  the 
guidance  exercised  by  the  old  Rector's  daughters  did 
not  always  escape  it,  though  they  made  his  welfare 
the  chief  object  in  their  lives.  It  was  his  son  whom  he 
loved,  and  thought  most  about,  during  the  long  hours 
in  which  he  lay  drifting  towards  the  end. 

He  had  come  to  him  late  in  life.  He  was  now  not 
yet  twenty-four.  If  he  had  been  only  a  year  older 


SURLEY   RECTORY  5 

the  great  anxiety  which  had  shadowed  the  old  man's 
last  months  would  have  been  lightened. 

The  living  of  Surley  was  in  the  gift  of  the  Bishop, 
but  it  had  been  held  by  a  Cooper  for  three  generations, 
covering  a  period  of  nearly  eighty  years.  If  only  it 
could  be  handed  on  to  Denis ! 

He  had  been  ordained  in  the  previous  Advent,  with 
a  title  to  his  father's  curacy.  He  had  done  the  work 
of  the  parish,  with  the  help,  or  oversight,  of  his  sisters, 
and  taken  such  of  the  services  as  is  permitted  to  a 
Deacon.  The  people  liked  him,  and  if  these  matters 
were  arranged  by  the  popular  voice  he  would  cer- 
tainly have  been  the  next  Rector  of  Surley.  But 
he  would  not  be  eligible  for  Priest's  Orders  for  an- 
other seven  months.  It  was  almost  too  much  to  hope 
that  the  Bishop  would  present  a  Deacon  of  only  a  few 
months'  standing  to  one  of  the  richest  livings  in  his 
gift. 

But  the  old  man  could  not  give  up  hope.  These 
things  had  been  done  before;  he  had  a  dozen  cases  at 
his  fingers'  ends.  But  unfortunately  they  were  all 
cases  dating  back  many  years,  to  a  time  when  the 
fitting  of  rewards  to  work  done,  or  to  be  done,  in  the 
Church,  had  not  seemed  of  such  importance  as  now. 
Fifty  years  ago  nobody  would  have  made  any  fuss 
about  such  an  appointment;  now-a-days  there  would 
certainly  be  a  fuss.  But  he  would  not  admit  that  there 
ought  to  be;  he  only  tacitly  accepted  the  fact  that  it 
was  impossible  for  him  to  take  any  steps  to  bring 
about  what  he  so  ardently  desired. 


6  THE    GRAFTONS 

The  Bishop  had  been  to  see  him  during  his  illness. 
Perhaps  he  might  have  put  in  a  word  then;  he  had 
thought  beforehand  that  he  might.  But  he  had  not 
done  so.  To  that  extent  he  accepted  the  changed 
conditions.  But  none  the  less  he  deplored  them.  He 
.felt  it  to  be  hard,  for  one  thing,  that  he  would  have 
to  die  without  knowing  what  should  happen  after 
him.  His  own  uncle,  whom  he  had  succeeded  in  the 
living,  had  been  made  contented  by  a  promise  on  his 
deathbed.  He  himself  had  known  that  he  would  be 
presented  to  the  living  a  month  or  more  before  it  had 
become  vacant. 

Ah!  things  were  ordered  better  in  those  days.  There 
was  more  human  kindliness,  and  not  so  many  Radicals, 
to  interfere  with  what  had  been  established  for  so 
long  and  had  worked  so  well. 

The  two  women  and  the  young  man  sat  by  the  bed- 
side, speaking  sometimes  in  low  voices  to  one  an- 
other, otherwise  busy  with  their  thoughts,,  Now  and 
then  one  of  them  would  rise  and  put  a  hand  to 
pillow  or  sheet,  but  more  to  give  herself  the  comfort 
of  performing  some  little  service  for  him  who  would 
soon  be  beyond  her  care  than  because  he  still  needed  it. 
For  he  lay  quite  still,  with  e"yes  closed,  breathing 
faintly  as  if  in  sleep.  They  would  not  have  known 
that  the  end  was  very  near  if  the  doctor  had  not  told 
them  that  the  quiet  breathing  might  cease  at  any  time, 
and  left  them  to  wait  for  the  end. 

There  was  not  much  emotion  in  the  minds  of  either 
of  them.  The  passing  had  been  too  long  and  too  grad- 


SURLEY   RECTORY  5f 

ual.  Their  brains  were  weary,  if  their  active  bodies 
were  not.  They  had  nursed  him  turn  and  turn  about, 
with  help  from  one  or  another  of  the  faithful  women 
about  the  house,  but  the  nursing  had  made  no  great 
demands  upon  them.  Neither  would  have  admitted 
to  the  other  that  there  was  a  slight  sense  of  relief  in 
the  end  having  come  at  last.  Gladly  they  would  have 
kept  him  with  them  and  spent  themselves  in  his  serv- 
ice, even  if  he  should  never  speak  to  them  or  open  his 
eyes  upon  them  again.  But  they  had  grown  used  to 
the  idea  of  losing  him  all  the  same.  Life  was  strong 
in  them,  and  there  would  be  many  things  to  do  when 
he  had  gone. 

The  end  came  as  the  dusk  began  to  gather  in  the 
corners  of  the  room,  with  a  fluttering  breath  that  was 
like  a  faint  sigh,  and  a  silence  hardly  more  complete 
than  the  silence  that  had  been  before.  The  old  Rector 
of  Surley  was  dead,  and  the  way  was  open  for  a  new 
Rector  to  be  appointed. 

The  two  sensible  self-controlled  women,  who  had  for 
so  long  given  their  service  with  a  cheerful  capability 
that  had  seemed  almost  hard  in  its  efficiency,  faced  a 
reaction  that  neither  of  them  had  been  prepared  for. 
They  sobbed  together,  and  confessed,  each  of  them, 
that  they  had  not  so  ardently  wished  that  the  dear 
old  man  should  survive  for  a  few  hours  or  a  few  days 
longer  than  they  now  wished  he  had.  They  would 
never  have  him  again  alive.  The  thought  was  hardly 
to  be  borne.  Their  lives  would  be  desolate. 

This  mood  lasted  all  the  evening,  and  was  genuine 


8  THE   GRAFTONS 

enough  in  its  regret  for  a  time  now  past  and  not 
valued  enough  while  it  had  lasted.  Denis  was  ac- 
cused, though  not  to  his  face,  of  want  of  heart,  because 
he  said  very  little,  and  had  shed  no  tears  whatever. 
By  the  end  of  the  evening  the  fact  that  they  had,  and 
could  still  do  so,  had  come  to  be  a  consolation.  By 
the  next  morning  it  had  become  difficult  to  shed  tears 
at  will,  though  they  still  came  on  occasions,  but  at 
rarer  intervals.  When  all  the  business  in  connection 
with  the  funeral  and  the  notifying  of  friends  and 
relations  had  to  be  met  they  were  ready  to  meet  it, 
and  found  satisfaction  in  the  occupations  with  which 
every  hour  of  the  days  that  followed  were  filled. 

The  letters  and  the  calls  of  sympathy  were  most 
gratifying,  as  showing  the  high  esteem  in  which  the 
late  Rector,  and  his  family,  were  held.  One  of  the  first 
to  call  was  Mrs.  Carruthers,  from  Surley  Park.  There 
had  been  a  coolness,  but  death  overrode  everything. 

The  sisters  were  writing  letters  at  the  dining-room 
table. 

"  We  had  better  go  in  together,"  said  Rhoda.  "  It 
will  be  less  awkward." 

"  If  she  doesn't  say  anything  I  don't  see  why  we 
should,"  said  Ethel.  "  Let  bygones  be  bygones,  I  say, 
at  a  time  like  this." 

"  I  wonder  if  the  Bishop  has  said  anything  to  her," 
said  Rhoda,  as  they  went  across  the  hall  together.  The 
Bishop  of  the  Diocese  was  Mrs.  Carruthers's  uncle. 

Mrs.  Carruthers  was  very  young  and  very  pretty; 
too  young,  the  Misses  Cooper  were  accustomed  to  say, 


SURLEY    RECTORY  9 

and  perhaps  too  pretty,  though  there  might  be  two 
opinions  about  that,  to  be  mistress  of  a  property  like 
Surley,  which  had  been  left  to  her  unconditionally  by 
her  husband.  The  old  Rector  had  been  fond  of  her 
before  the  dispute  had  parted  the  Park  and  the  Rec- 
tory, and  even  afterwards,  for  its  details  had  been 
kept  from  him,  and  he  had  not  realised  that  the  break 
had  been  so  complete  as  it  actually  had  been. 

Nothing  was  said  about  the  cause  of  dispute,  which 
had  been  concerned  with  the  '  goings  on  '  of  a  dairy- 
maid at  Surley  Park.  There  had  been  an  episode  with 
a  young  man,  and  the  Misses  Cooper,  very  stern  upon 
keeping  the  morals  of  the  parish  up  to  concert  pitch, 
had  fastened  themselves  upon  it  firmly.  But  it  was 
not  the  dairy-maid  who  had  been  concerned  in  the 
episode,  and  they  and  Mrs.  Carruthers  had  differed 
as  to  the  relative  importance  of  their  unfortunate  mis- 
take and  of  the  fact  that  there  had  undoubtedly  been 
something  to  complain  of  somewhere. 

There  were  tears  in  Ella  Carruthers's  eyes  as  she 
came  forward  to  meet  the  two  sisters.  "  Oh,  I  am  so 
sorry,"  she  said.  "  The  dear  old  man !  Of  course  one 
knew  the  end  must  be  coming,  but  it  doesn't  make  it 
less  hard  to  bear." 

Rhoda  and  Ethel  had  tears  too,  to  meet  this.  They 
had  begun  almost  to  enjoy  the  bustle,  but  were  glad 
to  be  able  to  show  that  the  sadder  softer  feelings  still 
had  sway  with  them.  They  were  also  relieved  at  the 
final  disappearance  of  the  coolness  between  themselves 
and  their  neighbour.  There  had  been  a  formal  mending 


10  THE   GRAFTONS 

of  the  breach  some  months  before,  but  they  had  not 
been  in  her  house  since,  nor  she  in  theirs.  Soon  they 
were  talking  to  her  about  their  father  as  if  they  had 
always  been  friends,  and  she  was  giving  them  genuine 
consolation  by  the  affection  she  showed  herself  to  have 
entertained  towards  him.  Their  feelings  grew  warmer, 
especially  when  she  said,  after  they  had  talked  about 
the  old  Rector  for  some  time :  "  I  do  hope  Denis  will 
succeed  him.  I  am  sure  that  is  what  he  would  most 
have  liked." 

This,  from  the  Bishop's  niece,  might  or  might  not 
be  significant.  The  Bishop  was  known  to  be  very  fond 
of  her,  and  had  stayed  with  her  once  at  Surley  Park, 
during  the  year  in  which  he  had  occupied  his  See. 
It  was  with  a  sense  of  excitement  that  they  set  them- 
selves to  find  out  exactly  how  significant  it  might 
be. 

"  It  was  the  one  thing  that  he  really  desired,"  said 
Rhoda.  "I  think  he  had  almost  made  up  his  mind  to 
speak  a  word  to  the  Bishop  about  it,  when  he  came 
over  to  see  him.  But  I  suppose  he  felt  he  couldn't.  I 
know  he  didn't." 

"  I  fancy,"  said  Ethel,  "  that  he  thought  he  could 
safely  leave  it  in  the  Bishop's  hands.  After  all,  it 
would  be  far  the  best  thing  for  the  parish.  That  is 
undoubted." 

"  And  the  Bishop  might  be  expected  to  see  that," 
said  Rhoda,  backing  her  up.  "  He  is  very  wise  and 
farsighted.  And  he  couldn't  help  liking  and  admiring 
our  dear  father." 


SURLEY    RECTORY  11 

The  statement  was  almost  a  question.  Ella  Car- 
ruthers,  faintly  amused,  treated  it  as  such. 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  said.  "  He  talked  to  me  about  him. 
He  felt  a  great  sympathy  with  him.  I  think  he  realised 
what  his  wishes  were  likely  to  be  about  Denis,  though 
of  course  he  didn't  say  anything  about  it  to  me." 

The  sisters  did  not  ask  themselves  how,  in  that  case, 
she  could  have  divined  the  thoughts  of  her  august 
relative.  Both  of  them  brightened  visibly.  "  I  don't 
like  to  hope  too  much,"  said  Rhoda  who,  as  the  elder, 
always  spoke  first.  "  But  it  would  be  such  a  good 
thing  for  the  parish." 

"  Everybody  loves  Denis,"  said  Ethel.  "  There  is 
nobody,  I  don't  care  who  he  is,  who  could  influence 
them  more.  And  we  should  be  here  to  help  him,  as 
we  always  helped  our  dear  father.  They  know  our 
ways.  Of  course,  one  mustn't  put  it  on  personal 
grounds,  but  it  would  seem  a  pity  for  all  our  work 
here  to  be  lost." 

"  We  should  work  wherever  we  went,"  said  Rhoda. 
"  It  is  not  ourselves  we  are  thinking  of.  Neither  of  us 
would  care  to  settle  down  to  a  selfish  life  without  try- 
ing to  influence  our  fellow-creatures  for  good.  But  I 
do  feel  that  if  we  were  not  permitted  to  stay  on  and 
work  here,  a  great  deal  that  we  have  done  during  the 
last  twenty  years  and  more  might  be  lost.  People  so 
soon  relapse." 

Ella  Carruthers  could  hardly  keep  the  smile  from 
her  lips.  The  idea  of  the  parish  relapsing  into  heath- 
endom on  the  departure  of  the  Misses  Cooper  amused 


12  THE    GRAFTONS 

her,  though,  in  her  softer  mood  towards  them,  she 
only  found  it  rather  pathetic  that  they  should  disclaim 
personal  interest  in  the  decision  that  was  soon  to  be 
made.  She  knew  little  about  the  conditions  of  Church 
patronage,  and  still  less  as  to  what  her  uncle's  ideas 
on  the  subject  were.  But  she  thought  she  might  '  put 
in  a  word '  when  he  came  to  the  funeral,  as  he  had, 
most  gratifyingly,  announced  his  intention  of  doing; 
she  had  reason  to  believe,  generally,  that  her  word 
had  weight  with  him.  She  left  them  with  heightened 
hopes,  which,  if  hardly  justified  by  any  influence  in  her 
power  to  exercise,  at  least  put  the  seal  upon  the  recon- 
ciliation between  her  and  them. 

"  She  really  is  kind  at  heart,"  said  Rhoda,  as  they 
went  back  into  the  dining-room,  after  saying  good-bye 
to  her.  "  I  shan't  be  sorry  to  be  friends  with  her 
again." 

"  Nobody  can  say  we  have  kow-towed,"  said  Ethel. 
"  It  was  the  principle  we  stood  up  for,  and  although 
we  frankly  admitted  the  mistake  we  made  we  have 
never  given  way  an  inch  upon  that." 


CHAPTER  II 

A  QUESTION  OF  PATRONAGE 

ELLA  CARRUTHERS  lunched  at  Abington  Abbey  on  that 
day.  The  whole  family  were  there  except  Young 
George,  who  was  at  school, — George  Grafton,  Caro- 
line, Beatrix,  Barbara,  and  Miss  Waterhouse.  The 
old  Rector  of  Surley  had  been  ill  almost  ever  since  the 
Graftons  had  come  to  live  at  the  Abbey,  and  they  had 
hardly  known  him.  So  the  talk,  as  far  as  it  concerned 
his  death,  was  almost  entirely  devoted  to  the  question 
of  his  successor. 

The  family  took  a  keen  interest  in  it.  George  Graf- 
ton  was  patron  of  the  living  Abington,  and  the  Vicar 
of  Abington,  the  Reverend  A.  Salisbury  Mercer,  was 
known  to  cherish  hopes  that  the  richer  living  of  Surley 
would  be  offered  to  him.  In  that  case  Grafton  would 
have  to  present  another  Vicar  to  Abington,  and  his 
family  did  not  propose  to  deprive  him  of  their  advice 
upon  the  subject.  Also,  none  of  them  liked  the  Rev- 
erend A.  Salisbury  Mercer. 

"  We're  divided,  you  see,  Ella,"  said  Caroline.  "  We 
should  like  to  get  rid  of  Lord  Salisbury,  but  we  don't 
think  he  deserves  to  have  Surley." 

"  And  we  rather  love  Denis,"  said  Beatrix.  "  He  is 
frightfully  solemn,  and  he  hasn't  shown  any  indication 
of  loving  any  of  us,  the  few  times  we  have  met  him, 

13 


14 

which  annoys  us  a  little:  but  we're  on  his  side,  on  the 
whole.  We  would  keep  Lord  Salisbury  for  the  sake 
of  letting  you  have  Denis." 

"  Thank  you  very  much,"  said  Ella.  "  We  should 
all  have  to  bear  our  crosses,  whatever  happened.  Mine 
would  be  Rhoda  and  Ethel,  if  Denis  gets  it.  But,  as  I 
told  you  once  before,  I  should  immediately  set  about 
finding  him  a  wife,  and  then  they  would  have  to  go.  I 
think  they  would  try  to  stop  him  marrying,  whoever 
it  was,  and  I  should  enjoy  myself  over  it.  I  suppose 
none  of  you  would  care  to  take  the  situation.  I  could 
recommend  you." 

"I  might,"  said  Barbara,  "if  you'll  wait  till  I 
have  my  hair  up.  I  don't  feel  that  I  could  love  Denis 
passionately,  but  I  could  be  a  good  wife  to  him  if  he 
didn't  beat  me." 

"Barbara  darling,"  expostulated  Miss  Waterhouse. 
"  I  don't  like  to  hear  you  talk  in  that  way.  It  is  not 
delicate." 

"  I  didn't  mean  it,  Dragon  dear,"  said  Barbara. 
"  I'm  the  most  delicate-minded  female,  really." 

"  How  would  it  be,"  said  Grafton,  "  if  we  presented 
Denis  to  Abington,  supposing  Mercer  got  Surley?" 

The  suggestion  was  received  with  applause.  "  Really, 
Daddy,  you're  quite  brilliant,"  said  Beatrix.  "  Lord 
Salisbury  would  hate  that  more  than  anything,  except 
Denis  getting  Surley." 

"  Beatrix  dear,"  said  Miss  Waterhouse.  "  I  don't 
think  you  should  talk  as  if  the  object  of  presenting  one 
clergyman  to  a  living  were  to  annoy  another  one." 


A  QUESTION  OF  PATRONAGE      15 

"  Quite  right,  Dragon,"  said  Grafton.  "  The  less 
we  annoy  the  clergy  the  better,  though  they  often  an- 
noy us." 

"  You  would  have  Rhoda  and  Ethel  here,"  Ella  Car- 
ruthers  warned  them. 

"  Then  I  don't  think  you  possibly  can,  Dad,"  said 
Caroline.  "  If  you  offer  it  to  Denis  you  must 
stipulate  that  he  pensions  them  off.  I  think  that  what 
we  really  want  is  a  very  nice  old  clergyman  with  white 
hair." 

"  A  trifle  infirm,"  added  Beatrix. 

"  And  with  a  nice  old  wife  who  goes  about  in  a 
basket  chaise,"  said  Barbara.  "  Or  else  a  very  beauti- 
ful curate  with  a  moustache,  that  I  could  fall  in  love 
with.  Dragon  darling,  don't  say  I  oughtn't  to  have 
said  that.  I  must  fall  in  love  sometime,  you  know, 
and  it  would  be  so  good  for  me  to  begin  with  a  clergy- 
man." 

Fine  weather  had  set  in  so  early  that  year  that  ten- 
nis and  croquet  courts  had  already  been  marked  out, 
and  they  played  lawn  tennis  after  luncheon.  The 
court  was  visible  from  the  road,  little  frequented,  that 
ran  through  the  park,  and  by  and  by  the  Vicar  him- 
self came  along  it,  with  his  wife,  and  called  out  to 
announce  that  he  was  coming  in. 

"  That's  because  he  sees  you  here,  Ella,"  said 
Beatrix.  "  He  has  rather  left  off  inviting  himself  in 
that  way.  He  will  want  to  know  if  the  Bishop  has 
dropped  any  hints.  Couldn't  you  possibly  make  up  a 
few?" 


16  THE    GRAFTONS 

There  was  a  slight  gleam  in  Ella  Carruthers's  eye 
as  she  took  the  suggestion,  though  there  was  no  time 
to  reply  to  it,  for  the  Vicar  was  already  approaching, 
pomposity  clothing  him  like  a  garment,  his  smiling, 
good-natured  little  wife  by  his  side.  The  game,  which 
was  nearly  finished,  was  dropped  by  consent,  and  the 
Vicar,  after  requesting  that  it  should  be  continued, 
but  not  pressing  the  point,  was  content  to  be  sur- 
rounded by  them  on  the  seats  that  were  disposed  at 
the  edge  of  the  lawn. 

"  We  were  so  sorry  to  hear  of  dear  old  Mr.  Cooper's 
death,"  said  Mrs.  Mercer  to  Ella.  "  I'm  sure  it  seems 
no  time  since  he  was  as  well  and  strong  as  anybody. 
I  could  hardly  believe  it  when  I  heard  it." 

"  It  has  been  expected  for  a  long  time,"  said  her 
husband.  "  He  has  passed  away  in  the  ripeness  of  his 
years,  and  there  is  no  need  to  repine.  We  went  over 
this  morning  to  offer  our  sympathy  to  those  who  are 
left  behind.  They  are  bearing  up  very  well,  I  am  happy 
to  say.  But  you  had  just  been  to  see  them  yourself, 
Mrs.  Carruthers.  They  were  much  gratified  by  your 
kind  visit,  and  I  hear  that  his  Lordship  is  to  come 
over  and  take  part  in  the  funeral." 

"  Yes,  I  believe  so,"  said  Ella.  "  I  hope  to  get  him 
to  stay  the  night  with  me.  It  is  some  time  since  he 
came  to  see  me,  and  we  shall  have  a  good  deal  to  talk 
over." 

"  Ah !  "  said  the  Vicar,  with  semi-archness.  "  I 
know  how  much  he  values  your  advice.  He  has  told 
me  so  himself." 


A  QUESTION  OF  PATRONAGE      17 

"Really,  Albert?"  queried  Mrs.  Mercer,  much  in- 
terested. "  You  never  told  me  that." 

The  Vicar  looked  slightly  annoyed.  "  It  was  when 
I  was  over  at  the  Palace,"  he  said  somewhat  inade- 
quately ;  and  turned  to  Ella  again.  "  It  is  rather 
pathetic,"  he  said,  "  the  way  those  poor  girls  cling 
to  the  idea  that  their  young  brother  may  be  appointed 
to  succeed  their  father.  They  even  gain  some  encour- 
agement from  something  that  you  let  fall,  as  to  his 
Lordship's  intentions,  no  doubt  with  the  idea  of  com- 
forting them.  But  it  would  never  do,  you  know.  No 
Bishop  in  these  days  could  afford  to  make  such  an 
appointment.  It  would  create  a  scandal." 

"  Didn't  you  say,  Albert,  that  it  would  amount  al- 
most to  the  sin  of  simony  ?  "  enquired  Mrs.  Mercer. 

"  Oh !  good  heavens,  Ella !  "  exclaimed  Graf  ton. 
"  Do  preserve  your  uncle  from  the  sin  of  simony.  That 
would  be  too  awful." 

The  Vicar,  sensitive  to  ridicule  like  most  people  of 
self-conceit,  after  a  glance  at  the  faces  round  him, 
turned  upon  his  wife.  "  I  should  never  have  said  so 
absurd  a  thing  in  such  a  connection,"  he  said.  "  You 
are  thinking  of  something  quite  different." 

Ella  Carruthers  broke  in.  "  My  uncle  has  only  been 
Bishop  here  for  a  little  over  a  year,"  she  said.  "  He 
has  told  me  more  than  once  that  there  has  been  a 
great  deal  to  learn.  And  I  know  I  have  helped  him 
in  one  or  two  things." 

A  gleam  of  satisfaction  shone  in  the  Vicar's  eye. 
She  seemed  to  be  appealing  to  him  for  advice,  which 


18  THE    GRAFTONS 

she  could  pass  on,  and  he  was  quite  ready  to  give  it. 
"  Your  uncle,"  he  said,  "  has  spent  all  his  life  of  serv- 
ice— hard  and  devoted  service,  I  know — in  large  towns. 
Though  no  man  could  rival  him  in  knowledge  of  urban 
clerical  problems,  it  would  be  nothing  to  be  surprised 
at  if  he  were  not  yet  fully  alive  to  all  the  currents 
of  opinion  among  the  country  clergy." 

"  You  have  lived  mostly  in  the  country,  Ella,"  said 
Grafton.  "  If  you  could  give  your  uncle  a  few  hints 
as  to  what  the  clergy  think  about  these  things  he 
might  perhaps  be  glad  of  it." 

"  Oh,  I'm  sure  he  would,"  broke  in  Mrs.  Mercer 
enthusiastically.  "  Dear  Mrs.  Carruthers,  please  try. 
It  would  be  such  a  splendid  thing.  And  I'm  sure  there's 
nobody  who  could  prime  you  up  better  than  my  hus- 
band. He  has  made  a  life-long  study  of  these  ques- 
tions, just  as  the  Bishop  has  about  town  questions." 

The  Vicar  almost  simpered.  "  I  wouldn't  compare 
any  knowledge  of  mine  with  the  Bishop's,  my  dear,"  he 
said.  "  At  the  same  time,  in  my  humble  sphere,  I 
have  observed,  and  thought,  and  consulted  with  men 
perhaps  wiser  than  myself,  and  I  think  I  do  know 
the  conditions  of  a  country  diocese  such  as  this, 
possibly,  if  I  may  say  so  without  being  misunder- 
stood, as  well  as  any  Bishop." 

"  I  know  my  uncle  is  always  anxious  to  discover  the 
opinions  of  people  who  really  know  things,"  said  Ella. 
"  And  he  is  certainly  not  above  taking  advice." 

"  I  should  hardly  presume  to  offer  advice,"  said 
the  Vicar.  "  For  one  thing,  my  position  as  incumbent 


A  QUESTION  OF  PATRONAGE      19 

of  one  of  the  less  important  livings  in  the  Diocese 
would  hardly  justify  me  in  offering  advice  to  my  Dio- 
cesan. Personally,  I  am  more  than  contented  with  my 
lot,  and  should  never  lift  so  much  as  a  finger  to  change 
it.  But  if  circumstances  did  conspire  to  move  me  to  a 
higher  sphere  of  influence,  where  it  would  not  be  unbe- 
coming to  lift  my  voice  in  advice,  I  should  consider  it 
my  duty  to  do  so,  if  asked,  knowing  that  possibly  I 
could  thus  serve  my  generation." 

"  I  suppose  the  living  of  Surley  would  hardly  give 
you  that  opportunity,  would  it  ?  "  asked  Ella.  "  I 
think  there  are  fewer  inhabitants,  and  it  is  a  poor  little 
church." 

"  Oh,  yes,  dear  Mrs.  Carruthers,  it  certainly  would," 
said  Mrs.  Mercer.  "  The  Rector  of  Surley  has  always 
been  a  person  of  importance.  Even  old  Mr.  Cooper 
was,  though  compared  with  my  husband — " 

"  Oh,  please,  my  dear !  "  interposed  her  husband. 
"  Let  me  speak  for  myself.  Your  question  wants  con- 
sidering, Mrs.  Carruthers.  It  is  true,  as  my  wife 
says,  that  the  Rector  of  Surley  has  always  been  con- 
sidered a  person  of  some  weight  in  the  Diocese.  The 
last  two  incumbents  were  Rural  Deans,  and  Mr.  Cooper 
would  have  been  so  if  he  had  not  considered  himself 
too  old  when  the  office  fell  vacant.  Yes,  I  think  I  may 
say  that  the  Rectorate  of  Surley  would  provide  scope 
for  a  man  anxious  to  serve  in  the  way  we  have  been 
discussing,  though  it  was  not  actually  the  sort  of 
position  I  had  in  my  mind.  But  I  should  think  it 
probable  that  his  Lordship  has  already  made  his  deci- 


20  THE    GRAFTONS 

sion.  If  not,  and  you  have  an  opportunity  of  whis- 
pering a  word  in  his  ear,  dear  lady,  warn  him  against 
such  a  grave  mistake  as  the  appointment  of  young 
Cooper  would  be.  I  speak — " 

"  But  don't,  for  goodness  sake,  tell  Rhoda  and  Ethel 
that  my  husband  advised  you  to,"  interrupted  Mrs. 
Mercer.  "  We  should  never  hear  the  last  of  it." 

The  Vicar  showed  signs  of  acute  annoyance. 
"  Really,  Gertrude ! "  he  said.  "  One  would  think  I 
was  doing  something  underhand  in  speaking  as  I  do." 

"  Well,  dear,  of  course  we  have  both  sympathised 
with  them  when  they  told  us  of  their  hopes.  I  know 
it  was  only  to — " 

But  he  would  not  let  her  go  on.  "  For  young  Cooper 
as  a  man  I  have  the  utmost  respect,"  he  said,  "  and  if 
he  were  twenty  or  even  perhaps  ten  years  older  and 
had  proved  himself  in  his  sacred  calling,  as  he  will 
do — as  I'm  sure  he  will  do — I  should  say  institute 
him  as  Rector  of  Surley,  and  the  blessing  of  God  go 
with  him.  But  it  is  not  a  personal  question.  Religion 
is  too  sacred  a  thing  to  be  treated  in  that  way,  and  I 
have  a  duty  to  perform  that  can't  be  tampered  with. 
For  the  Bishop's  own  sake  he  should  be  warned  against 
making  a  mistake  of  that  sort,  Rhoda  and  Ethel  or 
no  Rhoda  and  Ethel." 

"  Well,  Ella,"  said  Grafton,  rising,  "  you  know  what 
to  do  and  say,  if  you're  asked.  I'm  sorry  for  young 
Denis,  because  I  should  like  to  see  him  settled  in  a  good 
fat  living.  But  you  see  it  wouldn't  do,  and  your  uncle 
ought  to  be  warned  against  it." 


A  QUESTION  OF  PATRONAGE      21 

The  Vicar  also  rose.  "  At  the  same  time,"  he  said, 
"  I  shouldn't  like  it  to  be  thought  that  the  advice 
had  come  from  me.  It  might  almost  look  as  if  I  wanted 
the  living  for  myself,  and  I  should  greatly  dislike  that 
idea  going  abroad." 

"  But  you  wouldn't  refuse  it  if  my  uncle  were  per- 
suaded that  you  were  the  best  man  to  give  it  to  ?  " 
hazarded  Ella. 

"  I  should  consider  it,"  said  the  Vicar,  after  a 
moment's  weighty  pause.  "  I  can't  say  more  at  pres- 
ent than  that  I  should  consider  it." 

As  his  wife  also  seemed  about  to  express  herself 
upon  the  subject  he  took  his  leave,  somewhat  hurriedly, 
and  carried  her  along  with  him.  Grafton  and  Caroline 
accompanied  them  to  the  garden  gate. 

"  Isn't  he  the  limit  ?  "  enquired  Beatrix  when  they 
were  out  of  earshot.  "  Can  he  think  we're  all  such 
fools  as  not  to  see  through  him?  " 

"  I  wanted  to  see  how  far  he  would  go,"  said  Ella. 
"  Really,  I  think  it  would  be  almost  worth  while  hav- 
ing him  at  Surley  to  be  able  to  play  with  him.  But 
from  this  moment  I  am  heart  and  soul  on  the  side  of 
Denis,  Rhoda  and  Ethel  or  no  Rhoda  and  Ethel." 

This  was  not  the  only  clerical  invasion  of  the  Abbey 
on  that  afternoon.  It  contained  a  household  which 
presented  such  attractions  to  friendly  neighbours  that 
a  day  seldom  went  by  without  a  visit  from  one  or 
more  of  them.  Worthing,  the  agent  of  the  Abington 
property,  as  well  as  of  the  adjoining  one  of  Wil- 
borough,  and  his  pupil,  Maurice  Bradby,  came  to  re- 


22  THE    GRAFTONS 

inforce  the  tennis  players.  So  did  Richard  Mansergh, 
the  eldest  son  of  Sir  Alexander,  of  Wilborough,  a  sailor 
home  on  leave,  and  already  if  appearances  went  for 
anything,  desperately  enamoured  of  Beatrix.  And 
about  tea-time  the  party  was  joined  by  the  Reverend 
Rogers  Williams,  Vicar  of  Feltham,  and  his  wife,  who 
came  over  on  bicycles,  accompanied  by  several  Aire- 
dale terriers,  whose  breeding  they  supervised  in  the 
intervals  of  more  serious  occupations.  They  were 
known  as  the  Breezy  Bills  in  the  Graf  ton  family,  and 
a  closer  intimacy  had  been  established  with  them  dur- 
ing the  previous  holidays  by  Young  George,  who  had 
taken  a  youthful  liking  to  their  daughter,  Maggie, 
aged  fourteen. 

Tea  was  in  the  Long  Gallery  upstairs,  and  the  talk 
was  mostly  about  the  Rectory  of  Surley.  ' 

"  Are  you  a  candidate  ?  "  asked  Graf  ton  of  Mr. 
Williams.  "  Because  if  so  we  shall  have  to  be  careful 
what  we  say.  I  may  tell  you  at  once  that  our  sym- 
pathies are  with  young  Denis  Cooper." 

"  I  a  candidate !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Williams  with  a 
hearty  laugh — he  laughed  heartily  at  anything  in 
which  a  humourous  significance  might  be  inferred,  and 
at  many  things  where  it  was  not  apparent, — "  Oh, 
good  gracious,  no !  Wouldn't  leave  Feltham  for  any- 
thing in  the  world.  We've  got  everything  exactly  as 
we  like  it  there,  haven't  we,  dear  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  his  wife.  "  The  kennels  couldn't  be 
beaten  and  they've  cost  us  a  lot  of  money,  which  we 
should  lose  if  we  moved.  And  there's  the  carpentering 


A  QUESTION  OF  PATRONAGE     23 

shop  too.  Oh,  no,  we  look  on  at  it  all  and  laugh  about 
it,  don't  we,  dear?  " 

Mr.  Williams  laughed  about  it.  "  I  don't  know 
about  young  Denis,"  he  said.  "  That  would  be  rather 
a  tall  order,  as  things  go  now-a-days.  There's  one  fel- 
low, though,  that  I  hope  won't  get  it.  But  perhaps  I'd 
better  not  say  who  he  is  in  this  company."  He 
laughed  again. 

"  Oh,  we  know  who  you  mean,"  said  Caroline.  "  We 
hope  he  won't  get  it  either.  But  why  shouldn't 
Denis?" 

"  I  suppose  because  all  the  rest  of  us  would  kick  up 
such  a  fuss,"  said  Mr.  Williams,  laughing  most  heartily. 
"  I  shouldn't  on  my  own  account,  but  there  are  lots  of 
older  men  who  have  worked  hard  all  their  lives  who 
ought  to  be  considered  before  a  young  one  just  begin- 
ning. There's  nothing  to  do  there  either.  A  young 
fellow  ought  to  have  something  to  do." 

"  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Ella.  "  Rhoda  and 
Ethel  find  a  great  deal  to  do,  and  Denis  is  never  idle. 
I  can't  take  your  view  of  it  at  all,  and  I  hope  my 
uncle  won't." 

Mr.  Williams  laughed.  "  We  were  wondering  how 
much  Mrs.  Carruthers  might  have  to  do  with  it  as 
we  rode  over,  weren't  we,  dear?  "  he  asked  of  his  wife, 
and  laughed  again. 

"  We  hope  she  is  going  to  have  a  great  deal  to  do 
with  it,"  said  Beatrix.  "  We  are  heart  and  soul  for 
Denis." 

Richard   Mansergh,   who   was   sitting  next   to   her, 


24  THE    GRAFTONS 

frowned  slightly.  "  Brill — our  fellow — was  saying 
that  with  that  big  house  and  good  income  there  ought 
to  be  a  sort  of  community  there,"  he  said. 

"  That's  just  what  Father  Brill  would  say,"  said 
Mrs.  Williams.  "  Everybody  likes  Father  Brill ;  but 
preserve  us  from  having  our  nice  Rectories  and  Vicar- 
ages filled  with  people  of  his  sort.  I  don't  mean  his 
sort  personally,  but  celibates  stalking  about  in  cas- 
socks, and  no  women  in  the  parsonages  for  poor  peo- 
ple to  come  to.  It  wouldn't  do  at  all." 

"  I'm  sure  it  wouldn't,"  said  Worthing.  "You  can't 
change  and  muddle  up  English  country  life  like  that. 
What  were  all  the  parsons'  houses  built  for?  You've 
got  them  in  every  village  in  the  land,  so  that  there 
should  be  an  educated  man  able  to  live  like  a  gentle- 
man ;  and  now  people  like  Brill  want  to  put  it  all  back 
again.  It  won't  do." 

"  You  speak  with  considerable  heat,  James,"  said 
Grafton. 

"Well,  I  think  it's  a  lot  of  tommy-rot,"  said 
Worthing,  "and  I've  often  told  Brill  so.  The 
people  don't  want  it.  The  happiest  state  of  things 
for  them  is  where  an  old-fashioned  Squire  is  doing 
his  duty,  and  an  old-fashioned  parson  is  doing  his 
duty." 

"  And  an  old-fashioned  agent  is  doing  his  duty," 
hazarded  Barbara. 

Worthing  eyed  her  askance,  and  then  chuckled. 
"  You're  a  cheeky  young  baggage,"  he  said,  "  but  you're 
not  far  wrong  either.  The  agent  has  to  drive  the 


A  QUESTION  OF  PATRONAGE      25 

team,  and  it  wants  some  driving.  It's  the  human  side 
that's  wanted ;  that's  what  it  is — the  human  side." 

He  came  abruptly  to  an  end,  with  a  frown  of  per- 
plexity on  his  ample,  not  over-intellectual  face.  It 
was  Caroline  who  interpreted  his  ideas  for  him  fur- 
ther. 

"  You're  quite  right,  dear  Uncle  Jimmy,"  she  said. 
"  That's  what  strikes  one  when  one  gets  into  country 
life  a  little.  The  system  may  not  be  perfect,  but  it 
works  splendidly  with  the  right  people  to  look  after 
it." 

Her  father  smiled  at  her  indulgently.  "  What  do 
you  know  about  the  system?  "  he  asked  her. 

"  Oh,  I've  been  reading,"  she  said.  "  I  read  a  lot 
when  you  are  up  in  London,  Dad,  and  don't  want  look- 
ing after." 

"  I  don't  see  much  wrong  with  the  system,"  said 
Richard  Mansergh.  "  It's  worked  jolly  well  for  hun- 
dreds of  years,  and  it's  only  the  Radicals  who  want  to 
upset  it." 

"  The  naughty  wicked  Radicals,  of  course ! "  said 
Beatrix.  "  I  like  them  better  than  the  Tories  myself. 
I  once  met  Mr.  Birrell,  and  he's  the  sweetest  old  lamb 
in  the  world." 

"  One  swallow  doesn't  make  a  summer,"  said  Rich- 
ard. "  Wait  till  you've  met  a  few  more." 

Mr.  Williams  laughed  heartily.  "  They'd  like  to 
turn  us  all  out,"  he  said.  "  But  we  won't  be  turned 
out — not  without  a  struggle.  I  don't  think  there's 
much  wrong  with  the  system  either,  and  I'd  rather 


26  THE    GRAFTONS 

see  young  Denis  Rector  of  Surley  than  one  of  Father 
Brill's  communities  there." 

"  Oh,  so  would  I,"  said  Ella,  "  and  I  hope  my 
uncle  will  make  him.  He's  old  for  his  years  already, 
and  every  day  he'll  get  older." 

"  Do  you  think  the  Bishop  will  appoint  him?  "  asked 
Mr.  Williams. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  said.  "  If  I  knew  I'd  say  so. 
But  I  do  know  that  whatever  he  does  it  won't  be  be- 
cause he's  afraid  of  what  people  will  say  about  him." 


CHAPTER  III 

IN  THE  GARDEN 

THEY  went  back  to  the  tennis  courts  after  tea,  but 
there  were  not  enough  of  them  to  make  up  two  sets, 
the  Breezy  Bills  having  left  on  their  bicycles,  followed 
by  a  trail  of  Airedales.  "  Come  and  look  at  the  rock- 
garden,"  said  Caroline  to  Maurice  Bradby. 

The  young  man  brightened  visibly.  He  had  sat  si- 
lent during  the  conversation  at  the  tea  table,  as  he 
generally  sat  silent  in  company,  being  too  diffident  to 
put  forward  his  views  in  a  general  conversation.  But 
he  had  views  of  his  own  on  many  subjects,  and  those 
who  took  the  trouble  to  elicit  them  often  found  them 
interesting. 

Caroline  was  one  of  these.  She  was  no  older  than 
he,  but  had  seen  so  much  more  of  the  world  and  its 
inhabitants  that  her  feeling  towards  him  was  almost 
maternal. 

He  was  -not  like  the  young  men  whom  she  had  met 
in  such  shoals  in  London  ball-rooms  and  in  country 
houses,  not  one  of  whom,  however  they  might  differ 
in  character  and  tastes,  but  had  done  and  known  many 
of  the  things  that  she  had.  Bradby  was  the  son  of  a 
clergyman,  and  had  left  his  provincial  Grammar-school 
for  a  stool  in  a  provincial  bank,  to  be  released  from  it 
after  four  years  of  unhappy  confinement  for  the  coun- 

37 


28  THE    GRAFTONS 

try  life  after  which  his  soul  had  alwa}rs  hankered. 
The  country  was  a  passion  with  him,  and  Caroline  had 
penetrated  some  of  his  depths  at  an  early  stage,  when 
the  rest  of  the  family  were  only  in  the  state  of 
finding  him  uncommonly  heavy  in  hand,  because  his 
upbringing  had  not  trained  him  to  respond  to  the 
easy  intimacy  which  they  offered  to  all  whom  they 
thought  worthy  of  it,  and  had  offered  to  him  on  his 
introduction  to  them  under  Worthing's  wing.  Caro- 
line, sweet  and  kind  to  all  who  seemed  to  need  helping 
in  the  world,  had  taken  more  trouble  about  him  than 
the  rest,  but  they  had  all  come  to  accept  him  by  this 
time  for  what  he  was.  It  was  no  longer  awkward  to 
have  him  sitting  silent  while  talk  flowed  high  all  about 
him;  they  knew  him  too  well  to  be  obliged  to  drag  him 
into  it  out  of  politeness,  or  for  one  of  them  to  detach 
herself  to  talk  to  him.  And  it  was  only  in  talk  that 
he  was  backward.  If  there  was  anything  to  do  he 
was  a  stand-by, — clever  and  capable  and  interested. 
All  of  them  liked  him  very  well,  but  only  Caroline  had 
come  to  be  unaffected  by  his  dissimilarity  from  type. 

He  was  tall  and  loosely  built,  with  large,  strong 
hands,  and,  it  must  be  confessed,  with  unusually  large 
feet.  His  hair  was  not  well  brushed,  and  looked  as  if 
it  could  not  be.  His  features  were  indeterminate,  but 
he  had  large,  dark  eyes  which  somehow  redeemed  them. 
His  clothes  were  unobtrusive,  but  whatever  he  wore 
he  never  looked  well-dressed.  Among  the  smart  young 
men  of  the  Graftons'  large  circle  of  friends,  who  came 
down  to  shoot  at  Abington  or  to  spend  week-ends  there, 


IN   THE   GARDEN  29 

and  even  those  who  were  not  smart  but  belonged  ob- 
viously to  the  same  class,  he  seemed  always  out  of 
place.  This  was  somewhat  of  an  annoyance  to 
Beatrix,  who  was  apt  to  complain  that  there  was  no 
reason  why  he  should  so  persistently  take  a  back  seat, 
considering  that  they  had  done  all  they  could  to  make 
a  friend  of  him.  But  it  did  not  annoy  Caroline.  She 
had  seen  once  or  twice  young  men  among  their  visitors 
who  did  not  live  and  move  wholly  on  the  surface  of 
things  find  something  in  common  with  him.  He  was 
her  protege.  She  did  not  even  want  to  see  him  '  smart- 
ened up,'  as  Beatrix,  commenting  upon  his  unaccented 
appearance,  had  sometimes  suggested  as  a  process 
that  would  improve  him. 

The  rock-garden,  fashioned  the  previous  year  out 
of  a  disused  stone  quarry  across  a  paddock  from  the 
garden,  was  full  of  interest,  in  this  its  second  flower- 
ing season,  and  attracted  visits  at  all  hours  of  the  day. 
Maurice  Bradby  had  worked  hard  with  hands  and 
brains  at  its  construction,  and  knew  more  about  what 
was  growing  in  it  than  any  of  its  owners.  He  had 
had  few  opportunities  of  acquiring  garden  knowledge 
in  the  provincial  town  in  which  most  of  his  life  had 
been  spent,  but  he  sucked  in  and  assimilated  such  knowl- 
edge without  effort,  and  added  to  it  by  close  observa- 
tion, and  to  a  lesser  extent  by  study  of  his  subject. 
All  subjects  that  had  to  do  with  nature  found  this 
eager  response  in  him,  and  Worthing,  a  countryman 
by  birth  and  upbringing,  had  said  more  than  once 
that  he  had  never  had  a  pupil  so  easy  to  teach. 


30  THE    GRAFTONS 

Bradby  found  his  voice  the  moment  they  were  clear 
of  the  tennis  lawn.  "  What  did  you  mean  about  the 
system  being  wrong  just  now?  "  he  asked. 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  a  smile.  "  I  don't  think  I 
said  it  was  wrong,  did  I?  "  she  said.  "  I  said  that  it 
wanted  the  right  people  to  make  it  work." 

He  seemed  to  be  considering  this,  and  she  said, 
half  jestingly,  "  I  know  you  think  everything  is  right 
in  the  country." 

"  It's  right  for  me,"  he  said  simply.  "  I  suppose  it's 
right  for  you,  too,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  but  then  look  how  you  and  I  are  placed." 

He  considered  this  too.  "  We're  not  placed  in  the 
same  way,"  he  said.  "  I'm  part  of  the  machine,  and 
I'm  learning  to  be  a  still  more  important  part  of  the 
machine." 

"  Well,  am  I  not  part  of  the  machine  too?  If  we 
were  just  here  to  enjoy  ourselves,  as  some  people  do 
buy  country  houses  just  to  enjoy  themselves,  I  sup- 
pose that  would  mean  standing  apart  from  the  ma- 
chine. But  we  aren't  like  that,  are  we?  " 

He  did  not  reply  at  once,  and  as  they  had  now 
reached  the  rock-garden,  and  Caroline's  next  words 
were  about  the  flowers  that  were  showing  their  vivid 
spring  colours  in  the  amphitheatre  all  about  them, 
the  conversation  was  broken  off  for  the  time. 

But  it  was  resumed  again  a  little  later,  as  they 
stood  here  and  there,  or  moved  slowly  up  and  down 
the  rocky  stairs  or  about  the  stone  paths. 

"  You  know,  I  think  we  did  take  it  rather  as  a  new 


INTHEGARDEN  31 

toy  when  we  first  come  down  here,"  Caroline  said. 
"  We  loved  the  country,  and  we  wanted  a  country 
house  of  our  very  own.  Of  course  we've  all  enjoyed 
it  awfully  in  that  way,  but  I  don't  think  any  of  us 
thought  we  should  live  here  so  much  as  we  have. 
We've  hardly  lived  in  London,  all  together,  since.  And 
we  are  always  wanting  to  get  back  here  when  we 
do." 

"  Mr.  Grafton  doesn't  take  such  an  interest  in  the 
estate  as  Sir  Alexander  does  in  Wilborough? "  he 
said. 

She  laughed.  "  Darling  old  Dad !  "  she  said.  "  It 
t*  rather  a  bore  to  him.  He  works  when  he  is  in  Lon- 
don, and  likes  to  play  down  here,  and  leave  the  work 
to  you  and  Uncle  Jimmy.  But  he's  a  good  Squire  all 
the  same,  isn't  he?  He  gives  you  everything  you  ask 
for." 

"  Oh,  yes.  There's  never  any  trouble  about  money 
to  run  the  show  as  it  ought  to  be  run.  I  only  meant 
he  didn't  take  much  interest  in  details." 

"  I  don't  suppose  people  at  the  head  of  a  big  busi- 
ness generally  do,  do  they?  They  leave  the  details  to 
the  people  they  can  trust.  Dad  wouldn't  take  much 
interest  in  the  details  of  his  banking." 

"  Oh,  well,  I  see  what  you  mean.  This  isn't  his  real 
business  as  it  is  Sir  Alexander's.  Still,  there's  some- 
thing I  can't  get  quite  right  in  my  mind.  It's  all  so 
— well,  so  happy,  to  me,  that  I  don't  like  to  think 
there's  a  flaw  anywhere — in  the  system,  I  mean.  Mr. 
Grafton  pays  for  it,  doesn't  he?  He  makes  his 


32  THE    GRAFTONS 

money  somewhere  else.  He  bought  the  estate,  but  it 
can't  return  him  much  on  his  capital — certainly  not 
enough  to  live  on  in  the  way  you  do." 

"No,  but  why  should  it?  We  get  all  the  fun  of  it 
extra.  I  suppose  you  may  say  Dad  pays  for  that. 
It  returns  enough  to  run  itself,  though.  I  suppose 
you  and  Uncle  Jimmy  see  to  that." 

"  Oh,  yes.  It  keeps  us  going,  too.  And  everything 
is  run  as  it  ought  to  be.  All  the  farms  are 
let,  and  everybody  is  contented, — or  ought  to  be. 
Everybody  is  getting  a  living,  anyhow,  out  of  the 
land." 

"  I  love  to  think  of  people  getting  a  living  out  of 
the  land." 

His  eyes  shone  as  he  turned  his  face  quickly  to  her. 
"  Do  you  feel  like  that  about  it,  too  ? "  he  asked. 
"  So  do  I.  It  fills  me  with  pleasure.  I  like  to  think  of 
everything  that's  growing  on  the  land,  and  every  little 
thing  that's  done  to  make  it  grow,  and  the  men  who  do 
it  all ;  and  some  of  them  get  so  wise,  always  living 
and  working  on  it,  that  you  would  never  learn  all 
they  know  if  you  read  about  it  till  the  end  of  your 
life." 

"  I  talked  to  old  Bull  once  while  he  was  laying  a 
fence,"  she  said.  "  He  was  proud  to  let  me  see  how 
cleverly  he  was  doing  it,  and  that  it  wasn't  so  easy  as 
it  looked.  He  has  been  hedging  and  ditching  all  his 
life,  and  he  enjoys  it  as  much  as  anything  he  could 
do." 

"  Yes,  I  know.     That's  the  sort  of  work  a  man  can 


IN   THE   GARDEN  33 

enjoy,  with  his  hands.  You're  helping  nature,  and 
if  you  learn  the  ways  of  nature  she  helps  you.  There's 
never  any  monotony  in  nature.  She's  alive." 

"  When  you  see  people  like  that,  you're  apt  to  be 
ashamed  of  yourself  for  all  the  things  you  want  to 
make  you  contented.  Old  Bull  has  brought  up  a  large 
family  on  less  than  half  of  what  I  have  for  a  dress 
allowance.  His  dear  old  wife, — I  know  her  too — gets 
the  most  out  of  every  penny  that  he  gives  her,  and  he 
has  all  he  wants  at  home.  There's  no  anxiety  about  life 
when  you've  been  trained  to  do  without  things  and 
not  to  want  them." 

"  No,  you  get  your  satisfaction  out  of  the  things  you 
have,  and  they  are  much  bigger  than  the  things  you 
do  without." 

"  They  have  enough  to  eat  and  drink,  and  good 
clothes  to  wear.  They  have  their  family  interests,  and 
their  friends.  They  see  people  they  know,  and  have 
known  all  their  lives,  more  easily  than  people  like  us 
do.  They  hardly  ever  move  out  of  their  village,  but 
the  little  changes  of  life  from  day  to  day  and  from 
week  to  week,  with  their  work,  and  their  times  of 
leisure,  are  enough  for  them." 

He  smiled  at  her.  "  It's  an  idyllic  picture,"  he  said. 
"  There  are  people  who  will  tell  you  that  you  won't 
keep  them  on  the  land  except  by  bringing  the  pleasures 
of  the  town  to  them." 

She  did  not  hesitate;  her  ideas  seemed  to  be  clearly 
set.  "  That's  mostly  the  young  people,"  she  said. 
"  I'm  only  thinking  now  of  the  older  ones,  who  really 


34  THE    GRAFTONS 

belong  to  the  land.  Their  interests  are  in  it,  and  I 
think  it  brings  them  something  as  near  contentment 
as  it  is  possible  to  have." 

"  You  feel  a  little  like  that  about  it  yourself,  don't 
you?"  he  asked  half  shyly. 

She  smiled.  "  I  suppose  we  are  generally  thinking 
a  little  about  ourselves  when  we  are  talking  about 
other  people,"  she  said.  "  I  know  how  different  my 
life  is  from  theirs — how  much  more  I  want  to — to 
keep  me  quiet.  But  I  know  that  the  more  simple  I 
make  it,  and  the  more  it  depends  upon  what  lies  around 
me,  the  happier  I  am." 

He  looked  at  her  almost  with  veneration.  She  was 
an  unusually  pretty  girl,  with  an  expression  of  sweet- 
ness and  kindness  which  was  more  than  her  beauty. 
To  him  she  seemed  so  far  above  all  other  girls  whom 
he  had  ever  seen  as  to  be  of  a  different  flesh  and 
spirit.  Beatrix  was  even  more  beautiful  than  Caro- 
line, and  she  was  kind  and  sweet  too,  though  with  more 
contrariety  in  her.  But  to  him  she  was  common  clay 
beside  Caroline,  whose  lightest  word  he  was  inclined 
to  receive  as  an  oracle.  Both  of  them  seemed  to  him, 
in  his  self-respecting  timidity,  far  above  himself.  He 
had  had  no  contact  with  the  life  they  represented  be- 
fore he  had  come  to  Abington,  and  thought  himself 
quite  unfitted  to  take  part  in  it,  with  its  ease  and 
elaboration  of  wealth  and  unfamiliar  custom  marking 
it  at  every  turn.  To  think  of  himself  as  anywhere  on 
the  same  footing  as  these  shining  girls  would  have 
seemed  to  him  hardly  less  presumptuous  than  to  think 


IN   THE   GARDEN  35 

of  himself  as  on  a  level  with  a  Royal  Princess.  But 
just  as  the  goddesses  of  old  time  filled  the  hearts  of 
mortal  men  with  bliss  by  showing  them  what  they 
shared  with  them,  but  never  lost  their  godhead  by  so 
doing,  so  Caroline  moved  his  wonder  and  admiration 
by  letting  him  into  some  of  the  secret  places  of  her 
nature,  which  was  as  fair  as  its  outward  form,  but 
still  remained  high  above  him. 

"  It's  what  I  feel,"  he  said  gently,  "  though  I  lived 
a  dull  life  before  I  came  here,  and  you  lived  a  gay  one. 
I've  given  up  nothing  that  I  wanted.  I  enjoy  my 
life  much  more ;  but  still  it's  a  good  deal  simpler  than 
it  was." 

"  It  comes  of  doing  the  work  you  like  in  the  sur- 
roundings you  like,"  she  said  sagely.  "  With  a  woman 
it  isn't  so  much  the  work  as  all  the  little  ways  of  spend- 
ing her  time.  She  doesn't  as  a  rule,  unless  she's  crea- 
tive, or  has  to  earn  her  own  living,  work  by  herself, 
or  for  herself.  She  is  in  touch  with  others  all  the 
time.  I  never  thought  of  myself  as  having  a  place  here, 
except  the  one  I  have  always  had  at  home.  But  I 
have,  you  know.  I've  made  friends  with  a  great  many 
people.  We  all  have.  We  know  most  of  the  people  in 
the  village,  and  all  the  children.  I  suppose  I  just 
thought  of  Abington,  when  we  first  came  down,  as  a 
lovely  house  in  which  we  could  enjoy  ourselves,  by  our- 
selves, or  with  the  friends  we  asked  to  come  here,  and 
the  people  we  should  get  to  know  in  the  houses  round. 
I  never  thought  of  it  as  a  place  with  a  few  hundred 
people  living  right  round  you.  But  now  I  know  them, 


36  THE    GRAFTONS 

it's  different.  I  have  plenty  of  friends  among  them 
too,  friends  who  tell  me  things  about  themselves,  and 
like  to  hear  what  I  have  to  tell  them.  I  think  I  have 
made  myself  part  of  the  machine,  after  all.  But  I  like 
to  think  about  it  as  a  big  family." 

They  were  walking,  back  to  the  tennis  lawn  by 
this  time.  "  Yes,  that's  what  Worthing  meant  by 
the  human  side,"  said  Bradby.  "  I  know  he  thinks  a 
lot  about  that,  and  we  have  talked  about  it.  It  isn't 
giving  them  charity;  they  don't  want  that;  or  they 
ought  not  to  want  it.  It's  feeling  that  you're  all  the 
same  flesh  and  blood.  If  there  has  been  anything 
wrong  with  the  system,  that's  what  has  kept  it  to- 
gether all  these  years." 

Richard  Mansergh  and  Beatrix  did  not  talk  about 
the  system  when  they  presently  betook  themselves  for 
a  stroll  in  the  evening  sunlight,  before  he  mounted  his 
horse  to  ride  home.  He  had,  in  truth,  a  little  difficulty 
in  persuading  her  to  take  it  with  him,  for  his  admira- 
tion of  her  had  by  this  time  reached  the  point  at  which 
it  demanded  expression,  and  expression  in  its  turn  was 
apt  to  demand  answers  of  a  kind  which  she  was  not 
ready  to  give.  But  at  this  time  she  rather  prided  her- 
self upon  her  total  immunity  from  the  softer  passions, 
and  gained  some  satisfaction  in  fencing  with  them 
when  they  were  obtruded  on  her  notice.  It  was  only 
a  question  of  whether  or  no  she  was  in  the  mood  to 
exercise  her  wits  that  made  her  accept  or  decline 
these  contests,  and  she  had  only  hung  back  a  little 
because  her  late  activities  had  rather  tired  her. 


IN   THE   GARDEN  37 

She  was  enough  to  turn  the  head  of  any  man,  with 
her  sweet  flower-like  face,  whose  mischievous  eyes  only 
made  it  more  bewitching.  She  was  only  nineteen,  and 
her  slender  form  had  hardly  yet  filled  out  to  woman- 
hood, but  showed  delicious  soft  curves  of  neck  and 
shoulder.  She  wore  a  short  white  skirt  and  a  white 
silk  blouse,  all  very  workmanlike  for  her  play,  but  most 
femininely  becoming.  A  wide-brimmed  hat,  which  she 
caught  up  from  the  seat  beside  her,  slightly  altered  the 
note  of  her  clothes.  She  seemed  to  the  young  man 
more  desirable  thus,  walking  by  his  side,  than  in  the 
activities  of  the  game,  although  he  had  admired  her 
grace  and  skill  too  while  she  had  been  playing.  Per- 
haps the  hat  was  put  on  instinctively  to  soften  the 
impressions  of  athleticism;  but  a  wide  hat  brim  also 
conceals  eyes  and  mouth  from  one  who  is  considerably 
taller,  when  it  is  to  be  desired  that  they  shall  be  con- 
cealed. 

Richard  Mansergh  was  some  years  older  than  she 
— a  Commander  in  His  Majesty's  Navy,  and  a  good 
man  at  his  job,  a  born  lover  of  the  sea,  but  just  at 
present  anxious  to  spend  as  much  time  away  from  it 
as  rules  and  duties  stretched  to  their  utmost  limit 
would  allow.  He  was  taller  than  most  sailors,  and 
rather  good-looking  or  rather  ugly  according  to 
whether  regularity  of  feature  or  perfection  of  limb 
should  appeal  to  the  observer.  In  form  he  was  some- 
thing of  an  Adonis,  and  the  shape  of  the  head  and  the 
way  it  was  set  on  his  neck  hardly  prepared  one  for  a 
face  that  was  not  that  of  an  Adonis,  though  it  showed 


38  THEGRAFTONS 

strength  and  a  cleanness  that  had  its  attraction  too. 
He  was  very  deeply  in  love,  more  deeply  in  love  than 
he  had  ever  been  in  his  life,  or  had  ever  thought  to 
be  with  a  very  young  girl,  since  his  salad  days  were 
long  since  over.  He  was  of  an  ardent  temperament, 
and  previous  loves  had  burnt  themselves  out  without 
ever  coming  to  the  point  of  a  strong  desire  for  matri- 
mony. But  this  time  it  was  coming  to  that,  if  he  could 
win  himself  any  response  from  this  intoxicating,  tor- 
menting, elusive  creature,  whose  image  had  imprinted 
itself  so  deeply  on  his  inward  vision  that  he  walked  the 
earth  or  sailed  the  seas  with  it  ever  before  him.  He 
was  masterful  in  his  ways,  and  his  wooing,  when  once 
he  had  made  up  his  mind,  was  direct.  But  he  would 
never  propose  to  her,  if  he  wooed  her  for  ten  years, 
unless  he  gained  some  sign  of  love  from  her.  He 
wanted  the  whole  of  her,  for  his  very  own.  It  was 
like  heady  wine  to  him  to  think  of  her  with  him  always, 
in  spirit  if  not  in  body.  All  he  would  have,  all  he 
would  do,  would  be  hers,  but  she  must  make  it  so 
first,  and  she  must  give  him  back  all  that  was  in  her, 
all  the  endless  treasures  of  her  mind  and  her  spirit, 
which  thrilled  him  afresh  every  time  he  brought  a 
new  one  to  light.  He  had  never  felt  like  that  about  any 
woman  before,  and  he  exulted  in  the  strength  of  his 
passion,  and  the  new  things  about  love  that  it  was 
teaching  him.  They  were  all  good  things,  and  made  the 
cleanest  of  his  past  loves  seem  like  mere  sensuality. 
It  would  be  the  true,  deathless  marriage,  if  he  could 
win  her. 


IN   THE   GARDEN  39 

Beatrix  was  far  from  suspecting  on  what  a  pedestal 
of  adoration  he  had  set  her.  It  hardly  showed  in  the 
way  he  treated  her,  which  was  magterful  and  encroach- 
ing. She  knew  she  was  being  stormed,  and  rather  en- 
joyed it,  but  she  did  not  know  how  the  weather  would 
change,  if  she  surrendered.  Then  there  would  be  a  deep 
enduring  calm,  and  strength  in  which  she  could  rest 
herself.  If  she  surrendered!  She  was  nowhere  near 
it  at  present. 

"  I  want  you  to  tell  me  about  that  fellow  you  were 
in  love  with." 

She  turned  a  little  pale  at  the  shock,  and  stood  still 
on  the  grassy  path  down  which  they  were  wandering  to- 
wards the  yew-enclosed  lily  pond.  She  was  used  to 
his  abrupt  attacks,  and  had  nerved  herself  to  meet 
one,  as  he  had  walked  silent  by  her  side.  But  she  had 
not  expected  anything  like  this. 

Her  momentary  pallor  was  succeeded  by  a  deep 
blush,  as  she  looked  up  at  him  with  protesting  eyes. 
He  met  her  gaze,  and  adored  her  afresh  because  she 
did  not  look  down. 

"  Really,  I'm  not  going  to  talk  to  you  about  that," 
she  said  indignantly. 

He  went  on,  and  after  a  moment's  hesitation  she 
went  with  him,  though  her  inclination  was  to  turn 
back.  But  she  never  ran  away  from  anything. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  he  asked.  "  It's  nothing  to  be  ashamed 
of.  I  want  to  know  how  much  you  cared  for  him." 

The  shock  once  over,  Beatrix  was  not  sorry  to  have 
her  lips  opened  for  her.  It  is  not  often  that  a  girl 


40  THE    GRAFTONS 

is  given  the  opportunity  of  explaining  that  she  did 
not  care  very  much  for  a  man  to  whom  she  has  been 
engaged,  and  who  has  left  her;  at  least,  not  to  any- 
body to  whom  the  statement  will  bring  pleasure,  and 
credence. 

"  Haven't  you  ever  known  what  calf-love  is  ?  "  she 
enquired,  beginning  by  being  very  hard  upon  herself. 

"  Oh,  yes,  rather.  All  men  do.  It's  nothing  to  be 
ashamed  of.  Love's  a  very  beautiful  thing,  you  know, 
and  if  you  like  beautiful  things  you're  on  the  lookout 
for  it  from  an  early  age.  Sometimes  it's  the  right 
sort  of  thing  you  get  hold  of,  but  as  you  don't 
know  much  when  you're  first  attacked  you  generally 
don't." 

Beatrix  felt  herself  helped.  "  Well,  I  suppose  girls 
have  it,  too,"  she  said.  "  In  books  they  are  generally 
supposed  to  begin  with  a  curate." 

She  felt  suddenly  rather  like  crying,  she  could  not 
have  told  why;  but  it  was  because  the  love  she  had 
given  to  the  man  who  had  been  sent  away  from  her 
and  had  not  come  back  again,  had  been  a  sacred  thing, 
though  now  it  was  dead;  and  its  uprooting  had  left  a 
wound  which  had  not  yet  become  a  scar.  She  was 
glad  to  sit  down  on  one  of  the  stone  seats  of  the  lily- 
pond  garden,  which  by  this  time  they  had  reached. 

"  You  wouldn't  do  that  sort  of  thing,"  he  said.  "  I 
expect  until  that  fellow  made  love  to  you,  you'd 
laughed  at  it  all." 

This  was  quite  true,  and  she  felt  herself  lifted  by  his 
understanding.  It  was  painful  to  have  loved  and  to 


IN   THE   GARDEN  41 

love  no  longer;  but  since  she  did  love  no  longer  it  was 
more  comforting  to  her  self-respect  to  believe  that  her 
love  had  been  of  a  lighter  quality  than  she  had  thought 
it  at  the  time. 

She  dropped  the  ugly  idea  of  calf-love.  She  could 
do  better  than  that,  on  consideration.  "  I  should  have 
been  a  Marquise  you  know,"  she  said,  "  and  a  very 
rich  and  important  one.  Girls  are  apt  to  be  bowled 
over  by  that  sort  of  thing,  you  know." 

"  You  wouldn't  be,  though,"  he  said  again  with 
great  directness. 

This  was  quite  true  too.  She  was  flattered,  but 
was  not  prepared  to  drop  this  line  entirely.  And  she 
believed  every  word  she  was  saying.  "  I  don't  mean 
that  I  was  on  the  lookout  for  a  title,  in  that  crude  sort 
of  way,"  she  said.  "I  don't  think  I'm  like  that." 

How  entirely  unlike  it  he  thought  her  he  found  it 
difficult  to  refrain  from  saying  in  a  way  that  might 
have  startled  her,  touched  as  he  was  by  the  patheti- 
cally doubtful  note  in  her  speech. 

"  Of  course  you're  not,"  he  said.  "  I  told  you  so. 
But  I  suppose  everybody  all  round  you  was  egging  you 
on,  and  flattering  you  about  it.  You'd  like  to  think 
you  were  pleasing  people." 

How  understanding  he  was,  in  spite  of  the  rough 
shocks  his  speeches  sometimes  brought  with  them!  It 
really  had  been  like  that,  at  first. 

"  My  darling  old  Daddy  wasn't  pleased  at  all,"  she 
said.  "  He  hated  it." 

"  Yes,  I  know  he  did.     It!s  a  great  feather  in  his 


42  THE    GRAFTONS 

cap.  Most  fathers  would  have  gone  about  purring. 
He  was  a  good-looking  fellow  too,  wasn't  he?  I  never 
saw  him  myself,  but  my  brother  Geoffrey  says  he 
was." 

This  was  a  line  she  would  rather  have  kept  off  of. 
"  Yes,  I  suppose  he  was,"  she  said  judicially.  "  He 
was  a  lot  older  than  me,  and  had  seen  a  great  deal 
of  the  world.  Of  course  that  flattered  me.  I  don't 
think  a  younger  man  would  have  swept  me  off  my  feet 
as  he  did." 

The  Marquis  de  Lassigny  had  been  thirty-six  at 
the  time  of  his  quick  wooing  of  Beatrix.  Richard 
Mansergh  was  thirty-two,  and  had  also  seen  a  good 
deal  of  the  world.  This  statement  brought  him  pleas- 
ure. 

"  I  see  now,"  said  Beatrix,  speaking  very  calmly, 
"  that  I  thought  of  him  as  possessing  all  sorts  of 
qualities  that  weren't  really  his.  Of  course  I  thought 
I  knew  a  great  deal  about  men,  as  I  had  been  out  a 
whole  season,  and  had  seen  so  many  of  them.  Now  I 
see  how  little  I  really  knew." 

She  was  getting  on  very  nicely,  but  his  next  words 
brought  a  check.  "  But  you  did  love  him,"  he  said, 
uncompromisingly.  "  You  wanted  to  give  him  every- 
thing that  was  in  you." 

How  true  that  was  she  felt  a  pang  in  remembering. 
Whatever  his  love  for  her  had  been,  hers  had  been 
for  him  the  entire  surrender  of  all  she  was  or  would  be. 

She  was  on  her  defence.  "  I  told  you  I  didn't  know 
enough,"  she  said.  "  But  I  had  never  loved  anybody 


IN   THE   GARDEN  43 

before — in  that  way.  Of  course  I  gave  all  the  best  that 
was  in  me." 

He  caught  his  breath.  It  wouldn't  have  been  she  if 
she  haun't  done  that.  But  what  a  treasure  for  a 
man  to  throw  away !  "  He  can't  have  been  fit  to  black 
your  boots,"  he  said,  "  or  he'd  have  waited  for  you  for 
twenty  years." 

She  felt  the  need  of  a  lighter  note.  "  I  should  have 
been  old  and  ugly  by  that  time,"  she  said. 

"  You'd  have  been  neither.  But  if  you'd  lost  all 
your  looks  you'd  have  been  just  the  same." 

She  was  touched  by  the  almost  impersonal  convic- 
tion in  his  speech,  and  comforted  by  his  belief  in  her. 
But  she  was  not  yet  ready.  "  It's  very  kind  of  you 
to  say  that,"  she  said.  "  He  didn't  think  so.  And 
I'm  very  glad  he  didn't  now.  It  took  me  a  little  time 
to  get  over  it,  but  I  have  got  over  it.  I  don't  want 
anything  that  I  haven't  got  now.  I  love  my  family, 
and  they  love  me,  and  we're  all  going  to  be  happy  to- 
gether for  a  long  time.  Now,  I  think  we'll  go  in." 

He  rose  obediently  and  walked  back  to  the  house  by 
her  side.  She  had  given  him  no  opening  such  as  he 
ardently  longed  for,  no  response  that  might  bid  him 
hope.  But  he  could  wait  for  that.  It  would  come  in 
time,  if  mortal  man  could  do  anything  to  induce  it. 

As  for  her,  she  was  in  a  more  emotional  state  than 
appeared  on  the  surface.  Such  an  experience  as  she 
had  undergone — to  love  for  the  first  time,  and  to  have 
the  love  rejected — could  scarcely  help  hardening  a 
nature  such  as  hers,  yielding  and  trustful.  But  the 


44  THE    GRAFTONS 

hardening  would  not  set  in  until  the  wound  became  a 
scar;  and  he  had  opened  it  again,  and  delayed  the 
process. 

It  served  him  better  than  he  knew  that  he  had  done 
so. 


CHAPTER  IV 

A  PRESENTATION 

THE  old  Rector  of  Surley  was  duly  buried,  and  all  his 
friends  and  neighbours  for  miles  round  attended  his 
burying.  The  Bishop  was  there,  sympathetic  and 
urbane.  He  talked  most  kindly  to  the  Misses  Cooper, 
and  in  such  a  way  as  once  more  to  bring  to  their  eyes 
those  tears  which  the  abundant  business  of  the  past 
few  days  had  almost  dried  up.  And  he  was  closeted 
with  Denis  for  nearly  half  an  hour  in  the  comfortable 
study  of  which  the  young  man  had  made  himself  the 
occupant.  Thereafter  he  retired  to  his  niece's  house, 
and  spent  a  pleasant  restful  afternoon  and  evening, 
not  too  much  overcome  with  melancholy  to  enjoy  the 
little  change. 

Had  he  said  anything?  The  sisters  had  hardly  been 
able  to  restrain  themselves  from  listening  outside  the 
door,  and  fastened  upon  Denis  the  moment  their  illus- 
trious guest  had  left  the  house. 

Denis  frowned  slightly.     No,  he  had  said  nothing. 

What  had  they  talked  about  then?  They  were  not 
going  to  be  put  off  in  that  way,  by  the  brother  they 
had  nursed,  and  smacked,  not  so  many  years  before. 
They  supposed,  rather  sharply,  that  he  and  the  Bishop 
had  not  spent  all  that  time  together  in  silence. 

Denis  did  not  give  them  much  information,  but  left 

45 


46  THE    GRAFTONS 

them  to  infer  that  the  Bishop's  talk  had  just  been  that 
of  a  kind  wise  Father  in  God  with  a  young  man 
setting  out  upon  his  life's  work.  They  construed 
this  into  a  wish  on  his  part  to  find  out  for  himself 
whether  this  particular  young  man  was  a  suitable  object 
for  his  patronage,  and  hoped  afresh.  If  he  had  not 
been  going  to  offer  Denis  the  living,  he  would  certainly 
have  said  so,  and  advised  him  what  to  do  when  his 
curacy  at  Surley  came  to  an  end.  For  a  new  incum- 
bent would  not  want  a  curate.  Denis  would  either  stay 
on  as  Rector  or  depart  altogether. 

Two  or  three  days  went  past.  Denis  went  to  Lon- 
don on  business  connected  with  his  father's  estate,  and 
having  got  there  sent  a  telegram  to  say  that  he  should 
not  be  returning  until  the  following  day. 

His  sisters  did  not  quite  like  this.  He  had  given 
no  reason  for  staying  away  over  the  night,  and,  if 
they  would  have  disclaimed  the  right  to  direct  his 
movements,  there  was  still  a  lingering  idea  in  their 
minds  that  they  ought  to  be  consulted  about  them. 
He  had  taken  up  no  clothes,  and  there  was  the  hint  of 
a  suspicion  that  he  had  given  them  the  slip;  also  that 
he  had  stayed  up  to  amuse  himself,  which  would  not  be 
becoming  so  soon  after  the  sad  event.  Denis  had  al- 
ways been  extraordinarily  well-behaved,  and  wise  and 
steady  beyond  his  years.  They  prided  themselves  a 
good  deal  on  the  way  he  had  been  brought  up.  He 
would  not  do  anything  actually  wrong;  that  they 
were  sure  of.  Still,  it  was  a  good  thing  that  he  would 
have  them  there  to  look  after  him.  If  he  were  ap- 


A   PRESENTATION  47 

pointed  Rector  of  Surley,  he  would  want  all  the  ad- 
vice, and  direction,  that  they  could  give  him,  at  his 
age.  They  had  made  it  plain  to  the  Bishop,  without, 
of  course,  obtruding  themselves  or  their  desires,  that 
he  could  rely  upon  them  to  give  that  advice  and  direc- 
tion. 

The  next  morning  the  long-expected  letter  came. 
There  was  no  doubt  about  it.  It  was  written  in  the 
episcopal  hand  and  sealed  with  the  episcopal  seal. 
Really,  it  was  extraordinarily  tiresome  of  Denis  not 
to  be  there  to  open  it. 

It  did  not,  however,  take  them  quite  half  a  minute 
to  decide  to  open  it  themselves.  A  longer  period  of 
hesitation  would  have  made  it  appear  that  it  was  not 
the  most  natural  thing  to  do,  as  of  course  it  was. 
Denis  would  certainly  have  asked  them  to  open  it  if 
he  had  known  he  would  be  absent  when  it  came,  and 
after  all,  the  letter  was  as  important  to  them  as  it  was 
to  him. 

They  drew  a  long  breath  of  delight  and  relief  as 
they  devoured  its  contents  together.  As  they  told 
one  another  immediately  afterwards,  they  had  really 
not  dared  to  hope,  but  now  their  fears  were  set  at 
rest  it  was  easy  to  see  that  nothing  else  could  have 
happened.  If  only  their  dear  father  could  have 
known! 

They  both  thought  of  him,  in  the  pleasure  to  which 
they  now  gave  themselves  up.  It  would  have  sent  him 
out  of  the  world  happy,  the  dear  old  man.  Really,  if 
the  Bishop  had  intended  to  present  Denis  all  along, 


48  THE    GRAFTONS 

he  might  have  stretched  the  point  and  relieved  their 
father's  mind  of  its  anxiety. 

When  they  had  settled  down  to  the  news,  and  to 
their  cooling  breakfast,  a  slight  reaction  set  in.  They 
felt  all  the  fears  and  doubts  with  which  they  had  lived 
for  so  long  rolling  back  upon  them,  though  now  they 
should  have  been  set  at  rest.  Really,  it  had  scarcely 
seemed  possible  that  the  living  should  be  given  to  Denis, 
considering  his  youth,  and  his  Deacon's  orders.  Their 
talk  for  a  time  was  almost  as  if  they  were  blaming  the 
Bishop  for  his  presentation,  and  covered  most  of  the 
ground  that  might  have  been  taken  by  the  Vicar  of 
Abington,  or  other  clerical  critics,  of  such  an  appoint- 
ment. But  this  state  of  mind,  induced  by  fears  too 
little  allowed,  and  helped  by  the  kind  things  the 
Bishop  had  said  in  his  letter,  soon  disappeared.  There 
would  be  a  great  deal  of  criticism  to  meet,  and  they  at 
least  must  not  show  themselves  to  be  influenced  by  any 
of  it.  The  Bishop  had  made  the  appointment  of  his 
own  free  will,  and  on  grounds  that  seemed  good  to 
him.  They  had  done  nothing  to  urge  him,  nor  had 
they  pulled  any  strings.  That  was  a  great  comfort 
to  them  now,  and  they  gave  themselves  and  one  an- 
other considerable  credit  for  it.  Then  they  decided 
that  they  had  better  not  say  anything  about  the  ap- 
pointment until  Denis  returned  home.  After  all,  the 
letter  had  been  written  to  him,  and  the  news  could 
wait.  This  was  their  only  reference  to  the  fact  of 
their  having  opened  the  letter,  and  they  felt  that  it 
covered  everything. 


A   PRESENTATION  49 

But  as  Denis  did  not  arrive  by  the  train  that  would 
have  brought  him  home  in  time  for  lunch,  and  could 
not  now  be  expected  until  six  o'clock,  the  news  began 
to  sit  heavily  upon  them.  They  had  been  busy  indoors 
all  the  morning,  and  had  had  only  to  stifle  the  natural 
desire  to  tell  the  servants.  In  the  afternoon  they  went 
about  the  parish,  and  could  not  forbear  from  encour- 
aging several  with  whom  they  had  dealings  by  telling 
them  that  it  was  quite  possible  that  they  would  not 
have  to  leave  them  after  all.  But  as  they  had  said  this 
before,  though  not  perhaps  with  the  same  satisfied 
look  in  their  eyes,  the  secret  was  kept. 

They  came  home  to  tea,  and  now  they  longed  for 
Denis's  return,  for  the  news  had  burnt  itself  right 
through  their  lightly  formed  purpose,  and  only  the 
hour  or  so  that  they  would  have  to  wait  for  him  pre- 
vented their  summoning  all  the  servants,  indoor  and 
outdoor,  and  imparting  to  them  their  triumph. 

There  came  a  ring  at  the  bell,  and  presently  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Mercer  were  announced.  Rhoda  and  Ethel 
cast  a  sharp  and  identical  meaning  glance  at  one  an- 
other before  they  rose  to  receive  them.  It  said  as 
plain  as  if  spoken :  "  You  won't  be  able  to  keep  it  in." 

Denis's  absence  was  explained  and  commented  upon. 

"  I  wanted  to  see  him  particularly,"  said  the  Vicar. 
"  An  old  friend  of  mine,  who  has  somewhat  broken 
down  in  health,  needs  an  assistant  priest  to  go  to  him 
and  do  just  the  work  that  Denis  has  been  doing  here 
for  your  dear  father.  It  would  be  the  very  place  for 
him,  if — if  he  were  free  to  take  it."  He  mentioned  the 


50  THE    GRAFTONS 

name  of  his  friend,  of  the  pretty  village  in  Devonshire 
of  which  he  was  Rector,  and  the  stipend  offered,  while 
Rhoda  and  Ethel  listened  politely  with  meaning  smiles 
on  their  faces,  and  wondered  how  they  could  ever  have 
liked  this  man. 

Mrs.  Mercer  saw  the  smiles,  and  though  she  did  not 
understand  their  full  import  divined  something  of  their 
source.  "  Of  course,  dear,"  she  said,  "  we  know  it  is 
possible  that  Denis  may  be  preferred  to  this  living. 
In  that  case  this  offer  would  be  of  no  use  to  him. 
We  only  thought  that  if  he  wasn't — !  And  my  hus- 
band hasn't  told  you  that  there's  a  charming  little 
house,  big  enough  for  all  three  of  you." 

"  There  was  never  really  any  chance  of  Denis's 
appointment  here,"  said  the  Vicar,  not  without  an- 
noyance. "  It  was  quite  right  to  humour  the  poor  old 
gentleman,  as  he  so  set  his  heart  upon  it;  but  Rhoda 
and  Ethel  are  far  too  sensible  to  have  any  such  ideas 
themselves;  and  it  would  be  wrong  too." 

Rhoda  had  once  boasted  that  there  was  nothing  of 
the  cat  in  her,  but  she  enquired  very  sweetly,  "  And 
why  wrong,  Mr.  Mercer  ?  " 

"  My  dear  girl,"  said  the  Vicar,  "  you  know  as  well 
as  I  do.  It  would  be  a  job,  and  Bishops  dare  not 
perpetrate  jobs  in  these  days.  And  if  you  are  in- 
clined still  to  cherish  hopes  of  that  sort,  as  it  is  per- 
haps not  altogether  unnatural  that  you  should,  as 
you  had  to  persuade  your  dear  father  of  it  for  so 
long,  let  me  tell  you  at  once  that  the  appointment  has 
already  been  made,  I  am  not  at  liberty  to  say  in 


A   PRESENTATION  51 

what  quarter.  But  you  will  hear  about  it  very 
soon." 

It  was  Ethel  who  said,  "  Oh,  really,  Mr.  Mercer ! 
Did  the  Bishop  tell  you  that  himself?" 

"  You  never  told  me,  Albert,  when  you  came  back 
from  the  Palace  yesterday,"  said  Mrs.  Mercer  in  an 
aggrieved  voice. 

"  It  was  not  the  Bishop  himself,  of  course,"  said 
the  Vicar.  "  But  I  had  it  on  the  best  authority. 
Please  don't  ask  me  any  more.  The  conversation  was 
confidential." 

"  It  wasn't  you  it  was  offered  to,  dear,  was  it? " 
enquired  his  wife.  "  No,  I'm  sure  you  would  have  told 
me  that.  I  suppose  Mr.  Burgoyne  must  have  told 
you."  Mr.  Burgoyne  was  the  Bishop's  chaplain. 

The  Vicar,  like  most  self-important  but  weak  men, 
was  incapable  of  keeping  anything  to  himself  under 
pressure,  and  when  Rhoda  said,  as  sweetly  as  before: 
"  If  you've  told  us  as  much  as  that  I  think  you  might 
tell  us  who  the  living  has  been  offered  to.  Secrets  are 
absolutely  safe  with  us,"  he  hummed  and  ha-ed, 
and  then  said:  "Well,  Burgoyne  did  not  actually  ex- 
tract a  promise  from  me  to  keep  it  to  myself,  but  he 
gave  me  to  understand," — how  grateful  he  was  after- 
wards to  have  put  it  in  that  way — "  that  Leadbetter 
was  to  have  it.  It  would  be  an  appointment  not  alto- 
gether free  from  criticism.  I  believe  that  Leadbetter 
has  never  held  a  parochial  charge,  but  he  has  been 
Precentor  of  the  Cathedral  for  a  great  many  years, 
and  if  good  livings  are  to  be  given  in  that  sort  of  way, 


52  THE    GRAFTONS 

which  personally  I  think  they  should  not  be,  I  don't 
know  that  the  Bishop  can  be  greatly  blamed  for  giving 
it  to  him." 

"  /  think  they  should  be  given  to  men  who  have 
borne  the  burden  and  heat  of  the  day  in  the  poorer 
livings,"  said  Mrs.  Mercer  with  a  sigh,  for  she  had 
been  encouraged  to  hope,  and  the  hope  was  now  dead. 
She  didn't  ask  herself  why  her  husband  had  left  her 
for  nearly  twenty-four  hours  without  telling  her  so. 
There  were  questions  about  him  occasionally  which 
she  refrained  from  asking  herself.  She  had  asked  him 
why  he  seemed  so  bent  upon  going  over  to  Surley  that 
afternoon,  as  they  had  previously  decided  to  do  some- 
thing else.  She  would  have  demurred  to  going  if  she 
had  known  that  this  piece  of  news  was  to  be  imparted 
to  Rhoda  and  Ethel. 

The  time  had  come  to  speak.  "  Well,  Mr.  Mercer," 
said  Rhoda,  "  either  Mr.  Burgoyne  didn't  know  what 
he  was  talking  about,  or  else  you  misunderstood  him. 
I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by  a  job;  I  can't  see  one 
in  it  myself,  and  I'm  quite  sure  the  Bishop  wouldn't 
be  capable  of  such  a  thing ;  but  he  has  appointed  Denis 
Rector  of  Surley,  and  in  my  opinion,  a  very  good  ap- 
pointment it  is." 

"And  in  mine  too,"  said  Ethel.  She  did  not  add 
more,  because  the  most  interesting  thing  to  do  at  the 
moment  was  to  watch  the  Vicar's  face. 

There  was  no  room  for  incredulity,  with  the  an- 
nouncement made  in  that  fashion.  He  could  only 
stare.  But  the  quality  of  his  stare  was  such  as  to 


A   PRESENTATION  53 

give  Rhoda  and  Ethel  almost  as  much  gratification 
as  they  had  drawn  from  the  Bishop's  letter. 

It  was  a  gratification,  however,  that  was  broken  in 
upon  at  once,  for  Mrs.  Mercer,  when  she  had  once 
taken  in  the  announcement,  was  so  beaming  and  so 
sincere  in  her  congratulations  that  they  had  to  be  met 
in  something  of  the  same  spirit,  and  the  full  flavour 
of  the  triumph  was  lost. 

The  Vicar,  also,  when  he  had  recovered  himself, 
added  his  congratulations,  and  explained  away  as  far 
as  possible  his  previous  unfortunate  expressions ;  ex- 
plained also  that  Mr.  Burgoyne's  assumption  had  been 
so  near  to  being  a  direct  statement  that  he  must 
have  been  mistaken  himself  as  to  the  Bishop's  inten- 
tions. He  was  listened  to  with  the  utmost  politeness, 
but  was  shown  that  he  had  not  quite  succeeded  in 
wiping  away  the  mark  made  by  the  word  *  job,'  and 
was  left  with  the  impression  that  if  he  was  not  very 
careful  he  would  hear  more  of  it. 

He  was  not  in  fact  able  altogether  to  hide  his 
chagrin,  although  he  knew  well  that  he  was  affording 
satisfaction  in  showing  it.  He  took  his  wife  away  as 
soon  as  politeness  permitted,  and  what  he  said  to  her 
on  the  way  home  did  not  add  to  her  happiness  in  the 
stroke  of  good  fortune  that  had  come  to  her  friends. 

Rhoda  and  Ethel  loudly,  and  almost  indecently,  ex- 
ulted the  moment  their  backs  were  turned.  Really,  it 
was  too  transparent.  The  man  had  got  over  his  dis- 
appointment at  having  his  own  absurd  hopes  dispelled, 
and  had  come  with  no  other  purpose  than  to  crow 


54  THE   GRAFTONS 

over  them.  She  had  let  that  out.  Fancy  not  saying  a 
word  to  her  about  it!  She  was  a  good  little  thing 
herself,  and  had  really  meant  it  when  she -had  said  she 
was  pleased.  She  was  worth  a  dozen  of  him,  with  his 
conceit  and  his  spite.  Thank  goodness  there  were  not 
many  clergymen  like  him  in  the  Church.  That  sort  of 
spirit  did  more  harm  to  religion  than  any  other.  It 
would  really  be  almost  better  to  have  an  evil-liver  in  a 
parish.  Fancy  ever  thinking  that  the  Bishop  could 
be  taken  in  by  him!  He  knew  better  than  that,  at  any 
rate.  It  had  been  a  most  painful  exhibition,  and  the 
sooner  it  was  forgotten  the  better. 

It  gave  them  something  to  talk  about  until  Denis 
came  home,  when  they  both  flew  at  him  with  the 
news,  Rhoda  brandishing  the  Bishop's  letter.  Questions 
as  to  what  he  had  been  doing,  and  why  he  hadn't  let 
them  know,  could  wait. 

Denis's  surprised  displeasure  at  their  action  in  open- 
ing the  letter  took  them  aback.  In  their  eagerness 
to  impart  the  news  they  had  forgotten  that  there  was 
anything  irregular  in  the  way  they  had  obtained  it. 
They  were  not  accustomed  to  accept  criticism  from 
their  brother,  but  whatever  excuses  may  be  made  to 
one's  self  for  opening  letters  addressed  to  somebody 
else,  when  there  is  strong  curiosity  to  be  satisfied, 
the  doing  so  wears  a  different  aspect  when  the  excuses 
have  to  be  made  to  that  somebody  else.  Denis  listened 
gravely  to  what  they  had  to  say,  and  then  went  off  to 
his  study,  and  his  gravity  and  silence  had  this  much 
effect  that  they  did  not  follow  him  there,  as  they 


A   PRESENTATION  55 

would  have  thought  themselves  justified  in  doing  in 
almost  any  other  circumstances. 

Nor  did  they  see  him  again  until  they  all  three 
met  in  the  drawing-room  before  dinner. 

By  that  time  the  effect  upon  him  of  their  well-meant 
action  might  have  been  expected  to  have  worn  off, 
and  they  were  ready  to  talk  it  all  over  in  the  way 
he  should  have  been  prepared  to  do  when  they  had 
first  told  him.  Really,  he  looked  quite  like  a  Rector 
already,  standing  up  before  the  fire  in  his  silk  waist- 
coat, with  a  look  of  self-possession  and  dignity  that 
gave  them  a  new  idea  of  him.  Perhaps  they  felt,  as 
they  came  in  together  and  saw  him  standing  there, 
that  he  was,  after  all,  the  source  from  which  the  im- 
portance that  was  still  happily  to  be  theirs  was  to  be 
drawn,  and  that  the  manner  in  which  they  had  hitherto 
borne  themselves  towards  him  might  have  to  be  altered 
in  some  respects. 

Rhoda  dropped  a  curtsey,  and  said :  "  Homage 
to  the  Rector  of  Surley " ;  and  Ethel  followed 
suit. 

Denis  did  not  smile.  "  Have  you  told  anybody  of 
the  Bishop's  offer?  "  he  said. 

Rhoda  drew  herself  together.  It  was  time  this 
rebellious  spirit  was  crushed.  "  My  dear  boy,"  she 
said,  "  if  you  are  still  nursing  a  grievance  at  our  hav- 
ing opened  the  Bishop's  letter,  which,  after  all,  con- 
cerns us  as  much  as  it  does  you,  do  please  get  rid  of  it. 
It  isn't  a  pretty  spirit.  You  have  already  shut  your- 
self up  for  nearly  two  hours,  in  which  we  might  have 


56  THE   GRAFTONS 

been  talking  of  the  good  thing  that  has  happened; 
and  surely  that  is  enough." 

He  repeated  his  question.  "  Have  you  told  anybody 
of  the  offer?" 

"  We  told  nobody,"  said  Ethel,  "  as  the  letter  was 
written  to  you,  until  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Mercer  called  this 
afternoon.  He  had  got  it  into  his  head  that  the  living 
had  been  offered  to  Mr.  Leadbetter,  and  came  over 
with  no  other  purpose  than  to  tell  us  that,  and  see  how 
we  should  take  it.  He  hadn't  even  told  his  wife.  When 
he  had  crowed  over  us  enough,  of  course  we  had  to 
tell  him." 

"  It  would  have  been  impossible  to  have  kept 
it  to  ourselves  without  acting  a  lie,"  added 
Rhoda. 

Denis  considered  this  piece  of  information,  and 
drew  away  from  the  fire.  "  I'm  very  sorry  you  told 
him,"  he  said,  with  his  face  half  averted  from  them. 
"  I  have  already  written  to  refuse  the  Bishop's  offer. 
I  don't  feel  myself  equal  yet  to  the  responsibilities  of  a 
parish.  I  want  to  do  some  years'  hard  work  in  a  town 
first." 

After  a  pause  of  consternation  and  incredulity, 
both  sisters  set  on  him  at  once.  How  could  he  pos- 
sibly have  made  such  a  decision?  It  was  really  too 
outrageous.  And  without  giving  them  the  slightest 
warning !  Couldn't  he  trust  the  Bishop  to  know  and  do 
what  was  right?  Why  on  earth  hadn't  he  taken  their 
advice  before  doing  such  a  thing? 

All  the  scandalised  surprise  came  back  to  that,  and 


A   PRESENTATION  57 

it  was  the  first  thing  he  answered,  when  the  flood  of 
speech  showed  signs  of  abating. 

"  I  didn't  tell  you,"  he  said,  "  because  I  didn't  think 
there  was  any  chance  of  the  offer  being  made  to  me, 
and  I  wanted  to  avoid  this  sort  of  discussion." 

Dinner  was  announced  at  that  moment,  and  further 
discussion  had  to  be  put  off  until  the  parlour-maid 
had  left  them  to  themselves  and  their  food  for  a 
time.  The  interval  had  been  spent  in  almost  complete 
silence,  all  three  of  them  nerving  themselves  for  what 
was  to  come. 

All  three  began  to  speak  at  the  same  time,  when  the 
maid  had  shut  the  door  behind  her;  but  it  was  Denis 
who  continued  his  speech,  his  sisters  relinquishing  theirs 
to  listen  to  him. 

"  You  ought  not  to  make  this  difficult  for  me,"  he 
said.  "  I  made  up  my  mind  long  ago,  and  I'm  sure 
I  was  right  to  do  it.  I  didn't  want  to  tell  our  dear 
father,  because  his  ideas  on  these  things  were  old-fash- 
ioned, and  I  don't  think  he  could  have  seen  it  in  its 
true  light.  But  you  ought  to  be  able  to.  I'm  very 
sorry  for  your  own  disappointment,  but  you  ought 
to  be  able  to  judge  a  matter  like  this  on  higher 
grounds." 

This  speech  gave  them  plenty  of  material,  and  the 
sharp  attack  was  renewed.  How  could  he  say  such 
a  wicked  thing  about  their  dear  father!  And  the 
idea  of  accusing  them  of  thinking  about  themselves 
in  that  worldly  way !  He  must  know  very  well  that  all 
their  thoughts  had  been  for  him,  and  for  the  good  of 


58  THE    GRAFTONS 

the  parish  in  which  they  had  worked  nearly  all  their 
lives.  Please  drop  that  unworthy  charge,  if  he  could 
not  see  it  all  in  its  proper  light  yet. 

There  was  plenty  more  of  it,  and  he  sat  silent  and 
flushed  under  the  attack.  But  so  far  it  had  only 
stiffened  him. 

It  is  difficult  for  a  domineering  woman  to  relinquish 
the  weapons  which  temperament  thrusts  into  her  hands, 
but  they  came  to  see  that  they  could  not  move  him 
by  censure,  and  they  descended  to  argument,  as  a  half- 
way house  to  reasoning,  but  not  without  showing  an- 
noyance that  they  were  forced  to  do  so. 

Surely  the  Bishop  must  know  better  than  he  what 
was  the  right  thing  to  do  in  a  matter  like  this ! 
Wouldn't  it  be  almost  an  impertinence  to  throw  the 
offer  back  in  his  face?  He  could  see  that,  couldn't  he? 
And  it  was  not  only  the  Bishop ;  it  was  the  dying  wish 
of  their  dear  father,  which  really  it  was  preposterous 
to  set  aside  as  merely  old-fashioned.  And  they  had 
no  doubt  about  its  being  the  right  thing  to  accept, 
whatever  their  opinion  might  be  worth.  Did  he  really 
feel  justified  in  going  against  the  opinions  of  people 
so  much  older  and  wiser  than  himself? 

This  was  rather  more  difficult  to  meet.  They  were 
considerations  that  he  had,  spent  much  anxious  thought 
over,  during  the  long  hour  that  he  had  spent  by  him- 
self. And  he  could  not  yet  be  quite  certain  that  he 
had  solved  them  in  the  right  way,  though  he  had 
conscientiously  followed  the  light  that  was  in  him. 
Also,  his  sisters  had  established  a  considerable  author- 


A   PRESENTATION  59 

ity  over  him,  and  he  was  uncomfortable  in  withstand- 
ing them. 

But  he  won  through  this  stage,  the  contest  being  oc- 
casionally broken  into  by  the  intrusions  of  the  maid, 
and  the  intervals  being  spent  in  bringing  up  more  am- 
munition for  the  guns  of  argument. 

He  could  only  decide  such  a  matter  on  his  own  con- 
science, which  had  given  him  a  strong  leading.  He 
was  quite  sure  that  the  Bishop  would  respect  his  de- 
cision. Couldn't  they  accept  it  now  as  having  been 
made,  and  help  him  in  looking  forward  and  preparing 
for  the  new  work  he  had  undertaken? 

This  plea  seemed  to  show  a  slight  weakening.  They 
drew  from  him  the  admission  that  his  letter  of  refusal 
had  not  yet  been  posted,  and  set  themselves  ardently 
to  induce  him  to  reconsider  it.  Under  the  violence  of 
the  attack  he  seemed  to  waver,  though  the  streak  of 
obstinacy  in  him,  almost  more  than  the  weight  of  his 
convictions,  was  all  the  time  stiffening  him  under  the 
appearance  of  indecision,  which  was  only  the  result  of 
not  being  able  to  find  immediate  answers  to  each  and 
all  of  their  arguments. 

The  battle  moved  its  scene  from  the  dining-room  to 
the  drawing-room,  and  raged  with  varying  degrees 
of  heat  until  it  was  nearly  time  for  family  prayers. 
It  flared  up  hotly  when  Denis  told  them  that  he  had 
spent  the  night  with  the  Vicar  of  the  London  parish 
of  whom  he  had  already  accepted  a  curacy ;  for  he  had 
to  admit  that  he  had  been  in  negotiation  about  it  for 
some  time,  and  they  pointed  out  to  him  with  some  truth 


60 

that  if  he  had  told  them  of  this,  instead  of  keeping  it 
himself  as  if  it  were  a  shameful  secret,  all  the  present 
trouble  would  have  been  avoided.  And  was  it  possible 
that  he  had  said  nothing  to  the  Bishop  about  it,  when 
he  had  had  that  long  talk  with  him,  and  he  had  been  so 
kind? 

In  their  offence  at  having  been  kept  in  the  dark 
themselves,  they  had  not  at  once  fastened  upon  this, 
the  weakest  of  all  places  in  the  young  man's  armour. 
Why  had  he  not  told  the  Bishop,  in  that  talk  in  which 
the  announcement  of  such  a  decision  would  only  have 
drawn  the  kindest  sympathy  and  the  wisest  advice? 
He  had  asked  himself  that  question  many  times  during 
the  hour  he  had  spent  by  himself  battling  with  his 
temptation,  and  there  had  been  no  answer  to  it  for 
which  he  could  take  any  credit  to  himself. 

For  the  temptation  of  the  world,  as  represented  by 
the  Rectory  of  Surley,  had  been  almost  overwhelming, 
and  although  he  had  set  in  hand  his  arrangements 
under  the  belief  that  there  was  little  likelihood  of  its 
being  offered  to  him,  he  had  not  had  the  courage  to 
make  the  offer  impossible.  He  had  set  out  to  burn 
his  boats  by  entering  into  correspondence  with  the 
London  Vicar,  but  he  had  not  been  able  to  bring  him- 
self to  apply  the  match,  and  it  is  doubtful  if  he  would 
have  done  so  later  if  he  had  not  spent  that  evening 
with  the  devoted  priest  who  had  fired  his  spiritual  am- 
bition afresh.  Coming  down  in  the  train  he  had  re- 
proached himself  greatly  for  his  vacillation,  and  his 
boats  had  flared  up  behind  him  in  a  most  illuminating 


A   PRESENTATION  61 

conflagration.  He  reproached  himself  unsparingly  for 
having,  as  he  now  saw,  desired  to  gain  from  the 
Bishop's  views  defence  for  a  young  man's  burying 
himself  at  the  outset  of  his  career  in  a  comfortable 
country  living,  instead  of  trying  to  gain  from  him 
support  for  his  higher  ambitions.  But  he  could  not 
disguise  from  himself  that  his  lack  of  frankness  must 
appear  most  blameworthy  to  the  man  to  whom  in  such 
a  talk  he  had  owed  frankness  above  all  things,  and 
indeed,  as  he  blushed  hotly  to  think,  simulated  it. 

Well,  he  had  committed  a  grave  fault,  and  must 
abide  its  consequences  in  lessened  estimation  of  him 
by  the  man  with  whom  he  would  have  liked  to  stand 
well.  But  to  disguise  the  fault  by  taking  a  reward 
for  it  would  not  help  matters,  and  was  an  act  which, 
in  the  sensitive  state  of  conscience  he  had  reached, 
would  be  impossible  to  him.  The  very  fact  that  he 
had  led  the  Bishop  to  imagine  that  he  would  be  ready 
to  accept  the  responsibilities  and  emoluments  of  Surley 
now  prevented  his  doing  so,  more  than  any  other 
fact. 

But  it  may  be  imagined  how  much  of  this  his  sis- 
ters were  able  to  accept,  in  their  state  of  irritation 
and  anger  against  him.  They  could  only  see  the  in- 
excusable fault,  and  it  seemed  to  them  the  strongest 
reason  yet  advanced  why  he  should  obey  their  urg- 
ing. 

The  poor  badgered  young  man  rose  from  his  seat 
of  purgation,  saying  that  it  was  nearly  time  for  pray- 
ers, but  that  he  would  rather  not  conduct  them  to- 


62  THE    GRAFTONS 

night,  not  feeling  in  tune  for  them,  and  would  go  to 
his  study. 

Then  they  fell  upon  him  for  wanting  to  avoid  the 
very  thing  that  would  most  help  him  to  come  to  a 
right  decision,  and  pointed  out  how  very  wrong  his 
ideas  must  be  since  he  could  not  even  face  his  devo- 
tions. 

So  the  servants  were  summoned,  and  he  read  and 
prayed  before  his  household,  and  gained  some  solace 
and  support  from  doing  so. 

When  prayers  were  over  he  said,  in  a  quieter  voice 
than  they  had  permitted  him  to  use  during  the  greater 
part  of  the  contest,  that  he  could  not  discuss  the 
question  any  more.  If  he  had  done  wrong,  as  he  knew 
he  had,  he  was  now  going  to  do  right,  and  his  letter 
of  refusal  would  be  sent  to  the  Bishop  the  next 
morning. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE   SYSTEM 

EXCEPT  where  his  feelings  were  deeply  involved,  as 
they  had  been  in  that  matter  of  Beatrix's  affair 
with  the  Marquis  de  Lassigny,  George  Grafton  was  a 
man  who  exercised  authority  with  an  easy  grace  which 
those  who  came  within  its  sphere  scarcely  realised  as 
authority,  so  much  did  his  wishes  seem  to  comply  with 
their  own.  His  family  appeared  to  possess  and  to 
exercise  complete  liberty  of  action,  and  he  to  fall  in 
with  their  wishes  as  much  as  they  with  his.  But  this 
was  because  they  all  loved  one  another,  and  they  had 
kept  him  young  between  them.  If  any  of  them  wanted 
to  do  anything  that  he  did  not  care  about,  he  had 
only  to  say  that  he  didn't  care  about  it,  and  they  not 
only  didn't  do  it,  but  didn't  want  to  do  it,  because 
there  was  nothing  so  well  worth  doing  as  pleasing  him. 
This  was  in  small  matters;  but  there  had  never  been 
any  big  difference  of  desire,  except  in  Beatrix's  affair, 
which  he  had  not  handled  with  his  wonted  easy  de- 
tachment. But  in  the  way  that  had  turned  out  he  had 
proved  to  have  been  in  the  right,  in  a  good  many  ways 
which  she  had  not  been  able  to  see,  and  now  did  see; 
and  his  treatment  of  her  during  her  recovery  from 
love's  illness  had  restored  his  happy  ascendancy,  some- 
what shaken  while  the  illness  had  lain  heavily  upon 
her. 


64  THEGRAFTONS 

With  his  servants  and  dependants  there  was  never 
any  trouble  at  all.  They  liked  serving  him,  and  took 
a  pride  in  serving  him  well.  In  business  it  was  the 
same;  but  on  the  rare  occasions  on  which  he  had  had 
to  assert  his  authority  he  had  done  it  with  a  decision 
that  showed  his  customary  easy  manner  to  rest  upon 
strength,  and  not  upon  a  weak  complaisance. 

In  business  negotiation  he  usually  had  his  way,  be- 
cause he  had  always  made  up  his  mind  beforehand 
what  his  way  was  to  be,  and  that  it  was  reasonable  that 
he  should  have  it.  By  this  means  he  missed  the  coups 
that  come  from  imposing  unreasonable  conditions  on 
an  opponent,  but  gained  a  reputation  for  fairness  and 
straightness  of  dealing  which  made  up  for  it. 

He  was,  in  fact,  a  man  of  decision  and  character, 
under  his  amiable  easy-going  exterior,  and  he  was 
not  afraid  of  a  contest,  though  he  preferred  not  to 
enter  one  unless  he  thought  he  had  a  good  chance  of 
coming  out  victor. 

It  is  doubtful,  however,  whether  he  had  ever  en- 
tered into  one  which  would  provide  such  a  test  of  his 
qualities,  as  when  he  decided  to  get  rid  of  the  Vicar 
of  Abington — the  Reverend  A.  Salisbury  Mercer,  M.A. 

This  was  after  the  commotion  occasioned  by  Denis 
Cooper's  refusal  of  the  living  of  Surley  had  died 
down. 

The  commotion  had  been  considerable,  and  a  good 
deal  of  it  had  been  created  by  the  Vicar  of  Abington, 
who  really  had  nothing  to  do  with  it  at  all.  Denis 
had  now  departed  to  his  curacy  in  the  East  End  of 


THE    SYSTEM  65 

London,  and  his  sisters  had  betaken  themselves  to  the 
Cathedral  City  of  Medchester,  where  they  had  many 
friends,  or  at  least  acquaintances,  and  their  activities 
could  be  made  use  of  for  the  general  benefit  of  their 
fellow  church-people.  Mr.  Leadbetter  had  been  insti- 
tuted Rector  of  Surley,  and  it  was  beginning  to  be 
known  that  he  had  refused  the  Bishop's  offer  of  the 
living  before  it  had  been  made  to  Denis,  but  had 
thought  better  of  it  on  going  over  to  Surley,  and 
finding  that  the  little  church,  otherwise  undistinguished, 
possessed  a  remarkable  roof  for  sound.  He  was  a 
bachelor,  with  plenty  of  money  of  his  own,  besides 
what  would  come  to  him  from  his  rectorate,  and  in- 
tended to  provide  a  new  organ,  and  to  train  a  small 
but  exquisite  choir  to  render  a  full  musical  service, 
after  the  manner  of  Cathedrals  and  College  Chapels, 
twice  a  day. 

Grafton  unfolded  his  resolve  to  Worthing,  over  the 
dinner  table,  when  the  girls  and  Miss  Waterhouse 
had  left  them  to  their  cigars. 

"  I'm  going  to  get  rid  of  Mercer,"  he  said.  "  The 
fellow  has  become  an  infernal  nuisance,  and  I'm  tired 
of  him." 

Worthing  stared  at  him,  and  laughed.  "  You  can't 
do  it,"  he  said.  "  I  thought  you  knew  better  than  that. 
You're  the  patron  of  the  living,  and  you  appoint  a 
man  when  it  becomes  vacant.  But  once  appointed  he 
sticks  there  till  he  chooses  to  go.  You've  nothing 
more  to  do  with  it  than  anybody  else." 

"  Oh,  I  know  all  that.     When  I  say  I'm  going  to  get 


66  THE    GRAFTONS 

rid  of  him,  I  don't  mean  that  I've  got  the  power  to  turn 
him  out.  But  you  can  do  a  good  many  things  that 
you  haven't  got  that  sort  of  power  over,  if  you  go  the 
right  way  to  work." 

"Well,  I  don't  care  much  about  Mercer  myself, 
though  I've  always  tried  to  keep  my  opinion  dark 
for  the  sake  of  peace.  He's  a  tiresome  fellow,  and 
that's  a  fact;  but  he's  never  done  anything  that  he 
could  be  shifted  for.  It  takes  a  Bishop  all  he  knows, 
and  a  devil  of  a  lot  of  money  besides,  to  get  rid  of 
an  incumbent  who's  a  real  wrong  'un.  There  was  a 
case  over  at  Minbrook  when  I  first  came  here." 

"  I  know  that  too.  But  to  my  mind  a  quarrelsome 
back-biting  fellow  like  Mercer  does  more  harm  in  a 
community  like  this  than  many  a  man  who  kicks  over 
the  traces  in  a  way  to  give  a  handle  against  himself." 

"  I  quite  agree  with  you  there,"  said  Worthing, 
allowing  himself  to  be  diverted  to  this  question  of  the 
welfare  of  a  community,  which  he  had  much  at  heart. 
"  I'm  glad  you  take  that  view  of  it.  It's  the  right 
view  for  a  landholder  to  take,  in  my  opinion.  It's 
up  to  us  who  are  runninng  a  place  like  this  to  keep 
people  contented  and  happy.  It's  the  human  side,  as 
I  often  tell  young  Bradby.  You've  got  to  be  just 
in  your  dealings,  but  there  are  lots  of  little  points  where 
the  law  seems  to  give  you  an  unfair  advantage.  I  don't 
say  it  does,  but  it  seems  to,  in  the  way  things  are 
looked  at  now,  with  all  this  Radicalism  about.  You 
can  run  things  all  right  on  the  old  system  if  you  bring 
goodwill  to  bear,  and  remember  the  people  you're  deal- 


THE    SYSTEM  67 

ing  with  aren't  any  different  to  what  you  are  yourself. 
It  seems  to  me  that's  the  best  thing  about  the  old 
system — the  human  contact  between  all  parties  con- 
cerned." 

"  Well,  the  parson  of  a  village  ought  to  be  the  one 
above  all  others  who  makes  that  contact.  What's  he 
there  for  otherwise?" 

"  I  agree  with  that  too.  I'm  a  good  churchman, 
and  all  that,  and  of  course  the  religious  side  of  it  is 
important.  But  to  my  mind  it's  more  important  still 
that  he  should  be  the  friend  of  all  his  people,  rich  and 
poor  alike,  so  that  they  can  go  to  him  for  anything, 
and  find  a  friend  in  him." 

"  That  is  the  religious  side  of  it,  isn't  it?  " 

"  I  suppose  it  ought  to  be.  But  the  parsons  now-a- 
days  seem  to  want  to  run  a  country  parish  as  they 
would  a  town  one.  We  don't  see  much  of  it  hereabouts, 
except  with  Brill,  and  he's  kept  in  order  by  Lady 
Mansergh.  Brill's  a  nice  kind-hearted  fellow  too,  and 
if  it  wasn't  for  all  that  high  falutin'  church  business, 
and  changing  all  the  services  from  what  they've  been 
accustomed  to,  and  shoving  them  off  their  perches 
generally,  he'd  do  as  well  as  any  country  parson. 
Take  a  man  like  Williams.  He's  a  good  deal  more 
interested  in  his  dogs  and  his  carpentering  than  he  is 
in  his  church  services,  I  should  say.  I  don't  want  to 
hold  him  up  as  a  perfect  example,  but  he's  the  friend 
of  all  his  parishioners.  Beckley's  a  close-fisted  land- 
lord, and  doesn't  get  on  particularly  well  with  his  ten- 
ants. But  Williams  often  does  them  a  good  turn  with 


68  THE    GRAFTONS 

him.     He's  a  human  sort  of  fellow.     That's  what  I 
like  about  Williams." 

"  And  that's  just  what  Mercer  isn't." 

Worthing  had  rather  forgotten  about  Mercer,  and 
his  inclination  to  make  the  best  of  people  and  give 
everybody  a  chance  was  strong  in  him.  He  frowned 
slightly.  "  He's  cantankerous,"  he  said.  "  I  can't 
deny  that." 

"  Yes,  he's  cantankerous,  and  a  good  many  other 
things  besides.  There's  hardly  a  soul  round  about — 
of  our  sort,  I  mean — that  he  hasn't  fallen  out  with. 
When  I  first  came  here  he  warned  me  against  the  whole 
lot  of  them,  without  exception." 

"Did  he?  Well,  he  oughtn't  to  have  done  that.  I 
don't  believe  you'd  find  a  nicer  lot  of  people,  take  'em 
all  round,  anywhere  in  England." 

"  That's  what  you  told  me,  on  the  same  day  as 
he'd  said  the  opposite,  and  I'm  more  inclined  to  your 
opinion  than  his.  Then  he  makes  trouble  in  the 
place  itself.  My  girls  and  Miss  Waterhouse  are  find- 
ing that  out  constantly.  There's  always  a  lot  of 
quarrelling  going  on,  and  if  you  follow  it  up  you 
generally  find  he  has  had  a  finger  in  the  pie." 

"  Well,  I  can't  deny  that  either.  I've  often  had  to 
smooth  over  things  that  he  has  put  wrong.  He  is  a 
tiresome  fellow,  and  there's  no  denying  it.  It  would 
certainly  be  a  good  thing  for  the  parish  if  he  were  got 
rid  of.  Still  he  hasn't  done  anything  that  he  could  be 
got  rid  of  for,  and  I  don't  see  how  you're  going  to  bring 
it  about." 


THE    SYSTEM  69 

"  I'm  going  to  ask  him  to  go." 

Worthing  stared  and  laughed  again.  "  I  should  like 
to  be  there  when  you  do  it,"  he  said. 

*'  I  don't  think  you  would.  If  you  thought  I  was 
getting  the  better  of  him  you'd  want  to  take  his  part. 
That's  what  you're  made  like." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  about  that.  But  I  do  like  to 
keep  the  peace." 

"  If  we  can  persuade  Mr.  Mercer  to  take  himself  off, 
I  hope  we  shall  get  somebody  here  who'll  help  you. 
We'd  better  go  up  to  the  girls  now.  They'll  be  want- 
ing their  bridge." 

When  the  Vicar  walked  up  to  the  Abbey  the  next 
morning  in  answer  to  Grafton's  note  requesting  an 
interview,  it  was  with  anticipations  not  unpleasurable. 
Somehow,  he  had  never  succeeded  in  gaining  the  foot- 
ing of  intimacy  with  his  chief  parishioners  that  he  felt 
to  be  his  due.  It  was  even  some  weeks  now  since  he 
had  been  invited  to  the  house,  and  he  had  felt  ag- 
grieved about  it,  because  in  his  position  he  ought  to 
have  been  the  most  frequent  guest  at  the  only  other 
house  in  the  place  occupied  by  such  people  as  himself. 

It  had  not  always  been  so.  On  the  Graftons'  first 
arrival  he  had  felt  himself  free  to  run  in  and  out  of 
the  house  on  the  most  intimate  terms,  and  had  always 
been  sure  of  a  welcome,  as  was  only  right  and  proper. 
It  had  begun  to  steal  over  him  lately,  in  wafts  of  cold 
suspicion,  which  he  had  put  away  from  him  whenever 
they  approached,  that  his  welcome  had  perhaps  never 
been  quite  so  warm  as  he  had  taken  for  granted.  He 


70  THE    GRAFTONS 

had  also  begun  to  suspect  that  certain  criticisms  he 
had  passed  upon  the  Graftons — of  course  without 
meaning  anything  by  them — might  have  come  to  their 
ears,  and  accounted  for  the  cessation  of  invitations, 
to  lunch  and  to  dine,  which  had  never  failed  even  after 
the  running  in  and  out  showed  itself  to  be  not  quite 
what  they  wanted.  But  this  suspicion  had  stiffened 
him  against  them.  If  they  proved  themselves  difficult 
to  get  on  with,  as  so  many  people  in  this  part  of  the 
world  unfortunately  did,  he  was  not  the  man  to  give 
in  to  them.  He  had  his  own  position  of  dignity  and 
responsibility  and  would  take  his  stand  unflinchingly 
upon  that.  It  was  the  duty  of  a  Squire  and  a  parson 
to  keep  on  good  terms  with  one  another  for  the  sake 
of  example,  especially  when  the  people  of  a  parish 
were  so  quarrelsome  and  difficult  to  manage  as  they 
were  at  Abington.  He  had  done  all  he  could  to  bring 
that  happy  state  of  things  about.  If  the  other  party 
was  blind  to  the  advantages,  nay  to  the  Christian  duty, 
of  such  an  understanding,  then  he  must  pursue  his 
course  unflinchingly  apart.  On  no  account  would  he 
knuckle  under,  and  debase  his  sacred  profession. 

Still,  he  had  no  wish  to  quarrel,  and  it  was  some- 
what of  a  relief  to  be  asked  to  a  consultation  with 
Grafton,  no  doubt  upon  some  measure  of  importance 
in  connection  with  the  parish.  There  had  been  far 
too  little  of  that  co-operation.  A  Squire  might  do 
so  much  to  help  a  parson  in  his  devoted  labours  for 
the  good  of  the  community,  and  Grafton  had  done  so 
little,  though  on  his  first  coming  the  Vicar  had  had 


THE   SYSTEM  71 

strong  hopes  that  here  was  at  last  a  man  who  would 
back  him  up,  in  his  spiritual  duties,  as  he  in  his  turn 
was  only  too  anxious  to  give  help  and  advice,  in  all 
matters,  in  return. 

But  in  spiritual  matters  he  had  even  been  denied 
what  was  undoubtedly  his  due.  Grafton  had  not  even 
come  to  church  regularly,  nor  put  pressure  on  his 
household  to  do  so.  The  last  was  inexcusable.  The 
Vicar  could  make  allowances  for  a  man  in  Grafton's 
position  who  worked  in  London,  though  not  very  regu- 
larly, and  looked  upon  his  days  in  the  country  as  holi- 
days. But  his  servants  ought  to  be  made  to  come  to 
church.  The  Vipar  had  felt  so  strongly  about  this 
that  he  had  once  told  Grafton  so,  and  pointed  out  that 
he  himself  was  always  there  in  fair  weather  or  foul. 
Grafton  had  said  that  most  of  his  servants  did  attend 
church  regularly,  and  none  of  them  kept  away  alto^- 
gether,  and  had  not  been  able  to  see  that  that  was  not 
the  point.  And  pressed  to  exercise  his  authority  he 
had  refused  to  do  so. 

Then  there  was  that  point  of  Barbara's  confirmation. 
Miss  Waterhouse  had  asked  him  the  previous  year 
whether  he  should  be  holding  confirmation  classes, 
and  he  had  said  that  he  should,  for  the  Advent  con- 
firmation, but  only  for  the  young  people  of  the  vil- 
lage, and  that  of  course  Barbara  could  not  be  ex- 
pected to  attend  them.  He  had  offered,  at  the  sacri- 
fice of  his  own  valuable  time  to  prepare  Barbara  for 
confirmation  by  herself,  and  Miss  Waterhouse  had 
^thanked  him,  but  had  put  the  matter  off.  Then  when 


72  THE    GRAFTONS 

the  time  had  drawn  near,  and  he  had  raised  the  ques- 
tion, he  had  been  told  that  Barbara  would  not  be  con- 
firmed that  year  at  all.  They  would  be  in  London  after 
Christmas  and  she  would  be  confirmed  in  the  spring, 
at  the  church  where  her  sisters  had  been.  But  they 
had  not  moved  to  London  after  Christmas,  and  Bar- 
bara had  not  been  confirmed.  He  had  asked  about  it 
and  received  an  evasive  answer. 

He  was  thinking  of  this,  and  getting  nettled  about 
it,  as  he  walked  through  the  park  to  the  Abbey,  when 
it  suddenly  occurred  to  him  that  this  was  probably 
what  Grafton  wanted  to  see  him  about.  Well,  if  it 
was,  that  would  put  a  good  many  things  right.  He 
would  pocket  the  offence  that  he  had  felt  and  had 
been  right  in  feeling,  at  having  had  his  offer  treated 
in  the  fashion  it  had  been,  and  would  renew  it.  Bar- 
bara was  a  very  interesting  child — she  was  seventeen, 
and  ought  to  have  been  confirmed  long  ago — and  he 
would  enjoy  his  talks  with  her.  By  the  time  he 
reached  the  house  he  was  convinced  that  it  was  Bar- 
bara's religious  education  that  Grafton  wished  to  see 
him  about. 

He  was  received  in  the  long,  low  library,  with  its 
ranks  of  mellow  russet  books  which  no  one  ever  read, 
its  raftered  ceiling,  and  its  latticed  windows.  It  was 
the  room  which  Grafton  called  his,  but  seldom  used 
except  for  business  purposes  or  when  men  were  stay- 
ing in  the  house.  He  was  writing  at  a  table  at  the 
far  end  of  the  room  when  the  Vicar  was  announced, 
and  came  forward  to  greet  him  at  once  with  his  pleas- 


THE    SYSTEM  73 

ant  friendly  air.     It  was  no  part  of  his  intention  to 
antagonise  him. 

The  Vicar  began  the  conversation.  "  I  wondered, 
as  I  came  up,"  he  said  in  his  pompous  but  would-be- 
intimate  manner,  "  whether  it  was  about  Barbara's 
confirmation  you  wanted  to  talk  to  me.  She  really 
ought  to  have  been  confirmed  last  year,  and  the  in- 
tention was  that  she  should  be  this  spring,  wasn't  it? 
There  will  be  a  confirmation  either  here  or  at  Feltham 
later  on  in  the  year,  and  I  shall  be  very  pleased  to 
prepare  her  for  it  if  you  wish  it.  I  could  come  here 
once  or  twice  a  week,  or  she  could  come  to  me,  which- 
ever you  preferred." 

Grafton  was  about  to  refuse,  rather  shortly,  when 
he  bethought  himself. 

"  Are  you  going  to  have  a  confirmation  class  ?  "  he 
asked. 

"  Oh,  yes.  But  I  shouldn't  expect  her  to  attend 
that.  It's  for  the  boys  and  girls  of  the  village.  There 
'are  one  or  two  farmers'  daughters  this  year,  but  no- 
body of  the  same  class  as  Barbara.  You  couldn't — " 

"  What  has  class  got  to  do  with  it?  "  Grafton  inter- 
rupted him.  "  I  should  have  thought  in  a  matter  like 
that  everybody  was  equal." 

"  Oh,  well,  if  you  take  it  like  that ! "  said  the  Vicar. 
"  I  think  so,  of  course,  but — " 

"  What  should  you  teach  her?  "  asked  Grafton. 

"What  should  I  teach  her?  "  He  seemed  somewhat 
at  a  loss.  "  I  shouldn't  teach  her  any  Roman  doc- 
trine, if  that's  what  you're  thinking  of.  Good  Prayer 


74  THE    GRAFTONS 

Book  doctrine,  you  know.  At  confirmation  you  take 
upon  yourself  the  vows  that  others  have  made  for  you 
in  your  Baptism.  You'll  find  it  all  in  the  Prayer 
Book.  Careful  preparation  deepens  the  spiritual  life, 
at  a  time  when  the  young  soul  is  at  its  most  malleable, 
and  open  to  religious  impressions.  It  is  a  very 
blessed  opportunity." 

He  spoke  with  unction.  Grafton  looked  as  if  he 
were  suffering  from  a  slight  nausea.  "  I  don't  care 
a  bit  about  doctrine,"  he  said.  "  I  do  believe  in  Chris- 
tianity, and  I  think  I  recognise  its  spirit  when  I  see  it. 
I  see  it  in  my  daughter  Caroline.  She  hasn't  a  thought 
in  her  head  that  isn't  sweet  and  good.  She  never 
thinks  of  herself  when  there's  anybody  else  to  think  of. 
She  does  everybody  good  all  round  her,  by  just  being 
herself." 

The  Vicar  rather  enjoyed  theological  discussion. 
"  That's  an  interesting  point  of  view,"  he  said.  "  And 
a  very  natural  one.  I  admire  Caroline  myself — enor- 
mously. But  I  should  say  hers  was  a  natural  good- 
ness. Very  beautiful,  of  course,  and  something  to 
thank  God  for;  but  not  of  itself  religious." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Perhaps  I  should  say  not  of  itself  Christian.  You 
may  observe  the  same  sort  of  goodness  in  people  who 
don't  follow  the  Christian  religion — in  Buddhists  and 
so  forth.  In  the  Christian  religion  we  are  taught  to 
look  for  Grace,  and — " 

"  Oh,  well,  grace  or  goodness — it's  the  same  thing. 
I  won't  go  on  with  this;  I  didn't  ask  you  to  be  good 


THE    SYSTEM  75 

enough  to  come  and  see  me  to  talk  about  Barbara's 
confirmation.  I  shouldn't  want  you  to  prepare  her. 
It's  yourself  I  want  to  talk  about.  You're  not  very 
comfortable  here  at  Abington,  are  you?  You  don't 
care  for  the  people  round  you,  and  you  find  it  difficult 
to  get  on  with  the  villagers." 

The  Vicar's  mouth  opened.  "  I  don't  understand 
you,"  he  said. 

"I  know  that  as  patron  of  this  living  I've  no  sort  of 
authority  over  the  man  who  holds  it,  or  anything  of 
that  sort;  but  I  might  be  able  to  ease  the  wheels  a 
bit  if  you  saw  your  way  to  exchanging  it  for  another. 
I  believe  such  things  are  done.  I  don't  know  whether 
you've  ever  thought  about  it." 

The  Vicar  was  still  at  a  loss.  "  The  living  is  cer- 
tainly not  much  of  a  prize,"  he  said,  with  a  laugh. 
"  It  couldn't  be  held  except  by  a  man  with  private 
means  of  his  own — considerable  private  means.  If 
you  had  any  idea  of  raising  the  endowment — " 

"  Well,  I  might  do  that — or  add  to  the  income,  or 
whatever  it  might  be,  for  a  man  who  could  make  him- 
self happy  here,  and  get  on  with  us  all.  I  won't  beat 
about  the  bush,  Mercer.  You  seem  to  have  got  at 
loggerheads  with  everybody  here,  and  it's  no  more 
comfortable  for  us  than  it  is  for  you.  You  haven't 
fallen  out  with  us  yet,  but  I  can't  help  feeling  it  may 
come  any  time.  If  I  could  do  anything  to  make  it 
easy  for  you  to  get  away  from  a  place  where  you 
don't  find  congenial  society,  we  could  part  on  good 
terms  now,  and  it  might  save  trouble  in  the  future." 


76  THEGRAFTONS 

The  Vicar  now  understood  that  the  proposal  was 
not  to  raise  the  endowment  of  the  living  for  his  own 
benefit.  He  had  not  yet  grasped  the  fact  that  he  was 
being  invited  to  quit. 

"  I  can  only  say  that  if  you  and  I  fall  out  it  won't 
be  my  fault,"  he  said.  "  It's  quite  true  that  the  peo- 
ple round  here — your  sort  of  people,  I  mean — are  a 
cantankerous  lot." 

"  Well,  I  don't  find  them  so,  Mercer.  I  don't  find 
them  so." 

He  did  not  like  being  contradicted  in  this  resolute 
fashion.  "  I'm  afraid  we  must  agree  to  differ  on  that 
point  then,"  he  said  stiffly. 

"  It's  the  whole  point,  Mercer.  It  isn't  only  one  or 
two  you've  managed  to  fall  out  with;  that  might  hap- 
pen to  anybody,  though  if  sensible  people  manage  to 
fall  out  with  their  neighbours  they  generally  manage 
to  fall  in  again  sooner  or  later.  It's  the  whole  lot. 
When  we  first  came  here  you  warned  me  against  every 
single  family  about  here  we  were  likely  to  make  friends 
with,  except  two.  And  you've  fallen  out  with  them 
since." 

He  now  understood  that  he  was  being  brought  to 
book,  and  he  liked  that  less  than  anything.  He  grew 
red  and  gobbled  like  a  turkey  cock  before  he  spoke. 

"  This  is  a  most  unwarrantable  attack,"  he  said. 
"  Did  you  ask  me  to  come  here  to  receive  a  lecture 
from  you,  Mr.  Graf  ton?" 

"  I  asked  you  to  come  here  to  see  if  we  couldn't 
come  to  some  mutual  understanding  that  needn't  re- 


THE   SYSTEM  77 

fleet  upon  you  if  we  can  do  so.  My  reasons  for 
wanting  a  change  made  are  likely  to  be  painful  to  you, 
I  know,  and  probably  surprising  as  well.  But  I  must 
state  them  if  anything  is  to  come  of  it.  So  I  do  so 
as  directly  as  possible.  If  you'll  accept  them,  and 
talk  it  over  on  the  grounds  that  I  should  like  a  change 
made,  so  much  the  better.  Then  we  needn't  go  over 
the  reasons  any  more." 

"  You'd  like  a  change  made."  He  understood  it 
now,  and  summoned  all  his  powers  of  resistance,  and 
resentment.  "  And  you  really  think,  Mr.  Grafton, 
that  because  you've  bought  this  property,  and  live  in 
the  biggest  house  on  it,  you  can  order  things  in  that 
way.  Let  me  tell  you  that  there  is  one  house  in  this 
parish  that  you  have  not  bought,  and  that  is  my  humble 
Vicarage.  You  have  no  more  right  to  dispose  of  that 
than  you  have  of — of  the  Bishop's  Palace  at  Med- 
chester.  You — " 

"  Can't  we  talk  over  things  reasonably,  Mercer?  If 
I  thought  I  had  that  sort  of  power,  I  should  make 
some  attempt  to  exercise  it,  shouldn't  I?  I  shouldn't 
be  asking  you  if  we  can't  come  to  some  understand- 
ing." 

"  And  what  understanding  on  such  a  subject  is  pos- 
sible, I  should  like  to  know.  You  want  me  to  go; 
that's  the  plain  truth  of  the  matter.  Do  you  think 
I'm  not  a  fit  person  to  exercise  my  duties  here,  may 
I  ask?" 

Grafton  was  silent,  with  a  silence  that  was  signifi- 
cant. 


78  THE    GRAFTONS 

There  was  a  drop  in  the  temperature.  "  For  my  own 
satisfaction  this  must  be  cleared  up,"  said  the  Vicar, 
speaking  with  dignified  restraint.  "  If  you  have  any 
charges  to  bring  against  me  I  must  know  what  they 
are,  so  that  I  can  meet  them  in  the  open." 

"  There  are  no  charges,  Mercer,  to  be  met  in  that 
way.  I've  told  you  already  why  I  should  like  a 
change  made,  if  you  can  bring  yourself  to  consider  it. 
It  isn't  only  the  people  of  our  own  sort,  as  you  say, 
that  you  don't  get  on  with.  You're  at  loggerheads 
with  half  your  parishioners  at  one  time  or  another. 
My  girls  are  always  coming  across  it,  wherever  they 
go.  They're  keen — Caroline  is  especially — to  make 
friends  with  the  people  in  the  place,  and  for  us  who 
live  here  in  a  certain  relation  with  them  to  do  what 
we  can  for  them.  It's  one  of  the  pleasures  of  land- 
holding  to  be  given  that  sort  of  opportunity.  We've 
all  of  us  come  to  see  that.  I  believe  we  should  be  as 
happy  and  contented  a  community  as  you'd  find  any- 
where, if — well,  if  it  weren't  for  you,  Mercer.  I  don't 
want  to  be  offensive,  but  that's  what  it  comes  to." 

The  Vicar  was  trembling  with  anger.  "  But  this 
is  outrageous,"  he  exclaimed. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  think  so,"  said  Grafton  easily.  "  I've 
no  wish  to  offend  you,  but  it  seems  to  me  that  the  state 
of  things  I  want  here  is  worth  taking  that  risk  for. 
I  tell  you  plainly  that  you  seem  to  me  such  a  difficulty 
in  the  way  of  it  that  if  you  go  on  here  I  can't  continue 
to  offer  you  the  friendship  of  myself  and  my  family. 
In  ordinary  life,  if  a  man  you  know  is  continually 


THE    SYSTEM  79 

acting  in  a  way  you  don't  like,  you  drop  his  acquaint- 
ance, or  if  it's  necessary  you  fight  him.  I  don't  want 
to  fight  you,  and  I  don't  suppose  you  want  to  fight  me. 
I've  said  enough  to  show  you  that  I've  reasons  which 
seem  to  me  important  for  wanting  to  come  to  the 
understanding  with  you  that  I've  indicated.  I  don't 
want  to  argue  about  them,  or  to  push  them  in.  They're 
there.  I'll  ask  you  to  think  over  what  I've  said. 
Anything  I  can  do  to  make  it  advantageous  and  agree- 
able to  you  to  find  some  other  place  to  work  in,  I 
will  do ;  and  if  you  decide  to  go,  well,  as  far  as  people 
outside  will  be  able  to  see,  you  and  we  will  part  as 
friends,  and  you'll  be  going,  of  course,  of  your  own 
free  will." 

He  rose  from  his  chair,  and  the  Vicar  rose  at  the 
same  time.  He  had  an  enormous  amount  to  say,  but 
found  it  difficult  to  say  it  as  Grafton  walked  down  the 
long  room,  opened  the  door  for  him,  and  accompanied 
him  through  the  dining-room  into  the  hall. 

"  It  wants  thinking  over,  I  know,"  said  Grafton, 
taking  no  notice  of  his  beginnings  of  sentences.  "  You 
can't  decide  this  sort  of  thing  in  a  hurry.  If  you  and 
Mrs.  Mercer  will  come  and  dine  with  us  to-morrow 
night,  you  and  I  could  have  a  friendly  talk  about  it 
afterwards  and  see  if  there's  anything  to  be  done. 
Caroline  will  write  Mrs.  Mercer  a  note." 

The  Vicar  was  on  the  doorstep,  still  striving  for 
speech.  Grafton  said  good-bye  to  him,  and  returned 
to  the  library. 


CHAPTER  VI 
THE  VICAR'S  DECISION 

GRAFTON  didn't  tell  Caroline  to  write  her  note  of  in- 
vitation to  Mrs.  Mercer  until  the  next  morning.  It 
was  sent  to  the  Vicarage  by  hand,  with  instructions 
to  the  bearer  to  wait  for  an  answer. 

Mrs.  Mercer  took  it  into  her  husband's  study.  In 
the  ordinary  way  she  would  have  done  this  with  some 
expression  of  gaiety  and  pleasure,  for  she  took  such 
variations  of  life  as  happy  surprises,  and  could  be 
moved  to  excitement  even  by  an  invitation  to  a  flower- 
show,  with  a  garden  party  attached. 

But  this  time  her  face  did  not  light  up  as  she  opened 
and  read  the  note,  and  only  the  thought  of  the  wait- 
ing messenger  sent  her  to  her  husband's  room  at 
once. 

"  Here  is  an  invitation  from  Caroline  for  us  to  dine 
at  the  Abbey  to-night,"  she  said,  with  a  grave  face. 
"  Do  you  wish  me  to  accept  it  ?  " 

The  Vicar  was  very  busy.  He  looked  up  from  his 
writing  as  if  he  could  hardly  detach  his  thoughts 
from  what  he  was  doing,  and  said:  "  What  is  to-night? 
Thursday.  There's  nothing  on,  I  think.  Yes,  accept 
it."  Then  he  turned  to  his  writing  again. 

Mrs.  Mercer  wrote  her  answer  and  sent  it  out.  When 
she  had  done  so  she  sat  with  a  thoughtful  look  upon 
her  face  for  some  time,  which  gradually  changed  to 

80 


THE   VICAR'S   DECISION  81 

one  of  decision.  Then  she  went  in  to  her  husband's 
study  again,  and  shut  the  door  after  her  as  if  she 
meant  to  stay  there.  This  was  unusual.  She  was  not 
made  to  feel  herself  welcome  in  that  room  in  the 
morning  hours. 

She  was  not  to  be  made  welcome  now.  The  Vicar 
had  left  his  writing-table  and  was  walking  up  and  down 
the  room,  with  a  look  on  his  face  that  was  not  pleas- 
ant to  see.  It  didn't  grow  any  more  pleasant  as  he 
saw  her  shut  the  door  behind  her  with  that  air  which 
meant  that  she  had  something  serious  to  say  to  him. 
"  My  dear,  you're  just  interrupting  me  in  a  train 
of  thought,"  he  said  in  an  annoyed  voice.  "  If  you 
want  to  talk  about  anything  do  please  wait  until  lunch 
time,  or  at  least  until  the  post  comes.  I  shall  have  a 
few  minutes  to  spare  then." 

For  answer  she  sat  herself  down  in  a  high-backed 
chair  which  stood  by  the  empty  fireplace.  "  Albert," 
she  said,  "  I  must  speak  to  you.  Things  are  wrong 
with  us  all  round,  and  I  am  kept  out  of  it  all.  If  I 
am  to  be  a  true  wife  to  you,  and  stand  by  your  side 
in  all  the  difficulties  and  troubles  which  come  to  us 
with  the  people  round,  I  ought  to  know  what  is  going 
on,  and  not  be  kept  in  the  dark,  as  you  always  keep 
me." 

Tears  stood  in  the  little  lady's  eyes.  She  had  been 
such  a  good  loyal  wife  to  him,  putting  all  her  money 
at  his  disposal,  and  allowing  him  to  treat  it  as  if  it 
were  his  own,  and  even  as  if  she  ought  to  be  thankful 
to  him  for  the  comfortable  home  that  he  could  not  have 


82  THE    GRAFTONS 

given  her  himself.  She  had  never  felt  any  disturbance 
of  mind  on  that  score,  and  did  not  feel  any  now.  They 
were  one,  and  hers  was  his.  But  for  the  trust  and 
obedience  she  had  given  him,  never  questioning  his 
wisdom,  nor  failing  to  take  his  side  in  the  repeated 
disputes  and  estrangements  that  had  come  about  be- 
tween them  and  their  neighbours,  he  did  owe  her  re- 
turn. The  time  had  come  when  she  could  no  longer  go 
on  putting  her  whole  trust  in  him,  if  he  did  not  show 
some  corresponding  trust  in  her. 

He  stopped  in  his  walking  up  and  down,  and  stood 
before  her,  the  arrogant  frown  and  look  on  his  face 
which  she  knew  so  well.  But  something  now  told  her 
that  she  must  not  be  awed  into  submission  by  it,  as 
previously  she  had  always  been. 

"  Really,  I  don't  understand  you,"  he  said.  "  You 
must  leave  me  to  conduct  my  own  affairs  in  my  own 
way,  as  you  have  always  done.  You  can  help  me  in 
the  difficulties  I  have  in  my  work — and  they  are  heavy 
enough,  God  knows,  with  the  sort  of  people  I  have  to 
deal  with  here — by  giving  me  peace  and  quietness  in 
my  own  home.  You  can  help  me  in  no  other  way.  The 
troubles  I  have  fall  upon  my  own  shoulders,  and  I 
am  acting  rightly  by  you  in  trying  to  keep  you  unaf- 
fected by  them." 

"  But  they  do  not  only  fall  upon  you,"  she  said 
quietly.  "  We  make  friends  with  people,  and  every- 
thing seems  to  be  going  happily ;  and  then  suddenly  we 
are  not  friends  any  longer.  Often  I  have  had  to  find 
it  out  for  myself,  and  sometimes  you  don't  even  tell 


THE   VICAR'S   DECISION  83 

me  what  has  happened  to  cause  the  change.  It  was 
so  with  the  Beckleys.  I  have  never  known  why  we 
left  off  being  friends  with  them.  And  I  have  never 
known  why  there  was  such  disturbance  before  Mollie 
Walter  was  married.  It  would  have  been  natural,  as 
she  was  almost  like  your  own  daughter,  as  you  so  often 
used  to  say,  that  she  should  have  been  married  from 
here,  and  that  Mrs.  Walter  should  have  stayed  on  at 
the  Cottage  until  after  she  was  married.  But  her 
house  at  Wilborough  was  hurried  on  for  her  so  that 
Mollie  could  be  married  from  there,  and  you  were  not 
even  asked  to  take  part  in  the  ceremony." 

He  had  resumed  his  pacing  of  the  room  during  the 
progress  of  this  speech,  and  his  look  was  not  so  arro- 
gant as  it  had  been. 

"  I  certainly  don't  propose  to  go  into  old  questions 
of  that  sort,"  he  said.  "  They  are  over  and  done 
with,  and — " 

"  I  don't  wish  to  go  into  them  either,"  she  said.  "  I 
didn't  press  you  to  take  me  into  your  confidence  then, 
and  I  won't  do  it  now.  But  I  think  you  ought  to  tell 
me  what  has  been  the  trouble  with  the  Graftons.  You 
have  criticised  them  from  time  to  time,  as  you  criticise 
everybody," — he  frowned  at  this  sentence,  which  was 
unlike  any  she  had  ever  used  to  him — "  but  we  have 
been  on  friendly  terms  with  them  for  over  a  year.  At 
first  we  were  on  -very  friendly  terms  with  them,  and  you 
used  to  go  to  the  Abbey  in  just  the  same  way  as  you 
used  to  run  in  ind  out  of  Stone  Cottage.  They  have 
always  been  as  nice  as  possible  to  me,  but  I  couldn't 


84  THEGRAFTONS 

help  seeing  that  they  were  not  as  friendly  towards  you 
as  they  had  been.  When  you  left  off  going  there  in  the 
intimate  way  you  did  at  first,  they  still  asked  us  to  the 
house  fairly  often.  But  this  invitation  to  dinner  to- 
night is  the  first  we  have  had  from  them  for  weeks." 

He  did  not  usually  allow  her  to  speak  at  this  length 
without  interrupting  her,  but  when  you  are  brought 
to  book  about  anything  it  is  as  well  to  know  exactly 
what  you  have  to  meet.  It  may  not  after  all  be  so 
difficult  to  meet  it  as  you  had  anticipated. 

It  was  with  something  like  his  customary  tone  that 
he  said :  "  We  have  often  discussed  the  Graf  tons  to- 
gether, and  you  know  well  enough  that  there  are  many 
things  about  them  which  I,  as  a  priest  of  the  Church, 
cannot  approve  of.  If  there  has  been  any  decline  of 
intimacy  between  us  it  is  for  that  reason  and  that 
reason  alone.  They  are  not  what  I  thought  they 
were  when  they  first  came  here,  and  though  in  the 
position  in  which  I  stand  towards  them  I  must  do  my 
best  to  keep  the  peace  for  the  good  of  the  parish,  I 
shall  not  surrender  one  jot  or  tittle  of  what  I  stand 
for  here,  for  the  sake  of  keeping  in  with  the  rich 
man  of  the  parish." 

It  sounded  very  well  to  him,  but  she  rather  spoilt  it 
by  asking  in  a  quiet  voice :  "  What  do  you  stand  for 
here,  Albert?" 

Whether  or  hot  the  necessity  of  explaining  to  her 
the  whole  gist  and  meaning  of  the  Ordination  Service 
withheld  him  from  replying  to  her  at  once,  she  had 
time  to  go  on  before  he  spoke. 


THE   VICAR'S   DECISION  85 

"  I  haven't  been  able  to  prevent  myself  asking  that 
question  lately,"  she  said.  "  I  was  very  much  trou- 
bled by  the  way  you  behaved " — another  phrase  to 
which  his  ears  were  quite  unaccustomed  from  her — 
"  about  the  Coopers.  When  you  thought  that  the 
Bishop  had  offered  Surley  to  Mr.  Leadbetter  you  didn't 
tell  me  anything  about  it,  but  you  took  me  over  there 
so  that  you  might  tell  them,  though  you  knew  what 
disappointment  it  would  bring  them.  Then  when  they 
told  you  that  the  living  had  been  offered  to  Denis,  you 
congratulated  them,  but  you  spoke  in  such  a  different 
way  to  me  as  we  came  home ;  and  you  did  your  best 
to  stir  up  trouble  about  it  before  you  knew  that 
Denis  had  refused  the  offer.  And  even  when  that  did 
come  out,  you  couldn't  give  him  any  credit  for  what 
was  a  fine  action  on  his  part,  as  I  think,  but  could 
only  talk  about  the  way  his  sisters  were  served  right 
in  doing  what  they  had,  and  put  it  about  what  they 
had  done,  to  discredit  them." 

The  Vicar  had  in  fact  arrived  at  the  conclusion  that 
Rhoda  and  Ethel  had  opened  the  Bishop's  letter  ad- 
dressed to  their  brother,  which  it  is  probable  that  no 
one  else  would  have  guessed  at ;  and  righteous  indigna- 
tion at  such  an  action  had  been  his  chief  contribution 
to  the  talk  that  had  resulted  from  the  Bishop's  offer 
and  its  refusal.  It  was  somewhat  disturbing  to  find 
that  his  wife  had  not  taken  that  indignation  at  its  face 
value.  He  defended  himself  at  some  length  against  her 
charge  of  uncharity,  but  her  silence  and  her  downcast 
look  warned  him  that  he  was  not  impressing  her,  and 


86  THE    GRAFTONS 

as  the  ground  was  not  of  the  strongest  he  relinquished 
it. 

"  But  we  will  have  an  end  to  all  this,"  he  said,  catch- 
ing at  his  authority,  so  unexpectedly  being  ques- 
tioned. "  I  can  quite  see  that  my  silence  as  to  the 
Graftons  may  have  been  misunderstood  by  you.  The 
fact  is  that  for  months  I  have  been  coming  to  see  that 
my  position  here  will  become  impossible  unless  the 
Graftons  refrain  from  meddling  in  affairs  which  are 
my  concern  and  not  theirs.  I  went  down  to  the  Abbey 
yesterday  to  have  it  out  with  Grafton  once  and  for  all. 
Either  I  must  be  allowed  my  own  way  here  in  matters 
which  appertain  to  my  office,  and  that  must  be  defi- 
nitely understood,  or  else  I  must  fight  for  it,  and  all 
pretence  of  intimacy  and  friendship  must  be  aban- 
doned between  us.  Matters  have  come  to  a  crisis.  I 
found  Grafton  quite  irreconcileable.  He  takes  his 
stand,  as  a  rich  man  of  that  type  always  does,  upon, 
his  money." 

"  Oh,  Albert !  "  she  exclaimed. 

"  I  don't  mean  to  say,  of  course,  that  he  mentions 
his  money,  but  it  comes  down  to  that.  He  has  bought 
this  place,  and  imagines  that  he  has  bought  all  the  peo- 
ple who  live  in  it  body  and  soul.  I  told  him  very 
plainly  that  he  had  not  bought  me,  and  that  I  was 
not  for  sale,  and  I  flatter  myself  that  I  have  given  him 
something  to  think  about.  I  was  at  first  very  angry,  as 
you  no  doubt  saw  when  I  came  home,  but  I  have  been 
thinking  long  and  earnestly  too.  If  you  had  not  come 
in  just  now  with  a  series  of  accusations  which  are  really 


THE   VICAR'S   DECISION  87 

quite  unjustified  and  exceptionally  painful  in  the  midst 
of  a  crisis  of  this  sort,  I  should  have  told  you  in  a 
very  short  time  where  my  deliberations  had  led  me. 
They  are  serious  enough,  and  as  you  are  concerned  in 
the  matter  as  well  as  myself,  I  should  have  consulted 
you  before  making  any  actual  decision.  But  I  feel  that 
I  can  no  longer  go  on  here  under  such  conditions. 
The  work  I  have  spent  some  of  the  best  years  of  my 
life  over  is  made  of  no  avail,  and  to  go  on  with  it 
would  only  be  to  invite  further  failure.  Better  face 
all  the  distress  of  a  complete  break,  and  the  expense 
of  a  move,  and  get  away  from  the  place.  I  had  almost 
made  up  my  mind  to  do  that,  and  if  you  give  me  your 
concurrence  I  shall  take  the  step  without  further 
hesitation.  You  know  that  when  Sherlock  sent  the 
photograph  of  that  charming  little  house  at  Darthead, 
which  he  was  prepared  to  put  at  the  disposal  of  any- 
body who  would  go  and  help  him  there,  you  said  you 
wished  we  were  in  a  position  to  go  ourselves.  Well, 
let  us  go,  I  say.  It  will  mean  some  sacrifice  of  means, 
and  I  shall  not  be  the  ultimate  authority  at  Darthead, 
as  I  have  been  here.  But  there  will  be  less  to  keep 
up,  and  with  an  older  man  than  he  had  anticipated 
getting,  Sherlock  would  only  be  too  glad  to  give  a  free 
hand.  In  fact  he  said  that  if  he  could  get  somebody 
whom  he  could  thoroughly  trust,  he  should  try  to  get 
away  for  a  year  at  least,  and  leave  his  curate  in  com- 
plete charge.  Are  you  ready  to  make  this  new  de- 
parture with  me,  Gertrude,  and  support  me  loyally 
in  my  reasons  for  making  it?" 


88  THE    GRAFTONS 

By  the  time  he  had  come  to  the  end  of  this  speech, 
he  had  forgotten  the  beginning.  But  she  had  not,  and 
a  proposal  that  otherwise  would  have  found  her  en- 
thusiastic, for  she  liked  change,  and  the  photograph 
of  the  house  at  Darthead  had  pleased  her  enormously, 
left  her  for  the  time  unmoved.  For  his  account  of 
his  interview  with  Grafton  by  no  means  tallied  with 
certain  facts  in  her  own  possession. 

His  representation  of  himself  as  disapproving  of 
the  Graftons  to  such  an  extent  that  he  had  finally 
been  forced  to  deliver  an  ultimatum  was  one  of  them. 
He  had  overwhelmed  them  with  censure  when  he  had 
thought  he  had  anything  to  complain  about,  but  any 
approach  on  their  part  to  intimacy  had  always  been 
responded  to  by  him,  and  it  was  only  when  it  showed 
signs  of  dropping  again  that  he  had  reverted  to  his 
attitude  of  disapproval.  That  disapproval  had  cer- 
tainly increased  during  the  last  few  months,  in  which 
the  intimacy  had  been  withheld,  but  he  had  shown 
himself  almost  delighted  to  receive  Grafton's  note  ask- 
ing him  to  come  and  see  him,  and  had  certainly  not 
gone  down  to  the  Abbey  with  any  idea  of  delivering 
an  ultimatum.  He  had  returned  in  what  was  almost 
a  fury,  and  she  had  sat  silent  and  depressed  while  he 
had  covered  the  whole  Grafton  family  with  abuse,  but 
had  not  told  her  anything  of  what  the  new  trouble 
was  about;  nor  had  she  asked  him.  And  yet  he  had 
made  no  difficulty  about  her  accepting  Caroline's  in- 
vitation to  dinner  that  evening.  No  doubt  he  had 
persuaded  himself  of  the  truth  of  what  he  was  saying, 


THE   VICAR'S   DECISION  89 

even  as  he  said  it,  as  his  way  was.  But  it  carried  no 
conviction  to  her. 

"  I  think,"  she  said  quietly,  "  that  it  would  be  better 
for  us  to  go  away  from  here  if  we  cannot  keep  friends 
with  any  one  about  us." 

Something  warned  him  not  to  take  exception  to  this 
speech,  or  to  expat'ate  further  upon  the  offences  he 
had  received.  "  We  can  put  all  that  behind  us  now,"  he 
said.  "  I  have  not  been  able  to  make  headway  against 
the  forces  arrayed  against  me  here,  and  it  will  be  better 
for  us  to  start  entirely  afresh.  There  is  no  need  to 
keep  up  any  ill-feeling  against  even  the  Graftons. 
That  is  why  we  can  dine  with  them  to-night,  on  the 
old  friendly  terms.  If  I  had  not  decided  to  leave  the 
place  we  should  have  been  obliged  to  refuse  their 
invitation.  I  think  you  will  find  no  unpleasantness 
there,  if  you  do  and  say  nothing  to  arouse  it  yourself. 
When  they  hear  we  are  going,  perhaps  they  may  even 
be  rather  sorry.  Whoever  comes  here  after  me — 
Grafton  will  have  to  find  somebody  himself,  and  I 
wish  him  luck  of  the  job,  for  a  living  of  this  value — 
I  don't  think  he  will  easily  find  a  more  devoted  parish 
priest  than  I  have  been,  or  a  Vicar's  wife  more  ready 
to  do  her  duty  than  you  have  been,  my  dear." 

This  tribute,  thoroughly  deserved  but  so  rarely 
paid  by  him,  did  not  bring  instant  grateful  delighted 
response  from  her,  as  usually  it  would  have  done.  Her 
eyes  had  been  forced  open,  and  could  not  be  closed 
again  by  a  careless  word  of  compliment.  She  knew 
that  even  in  his  last  speech  he  had  not  spoken  the  en- 


90  THE   GRAFTONS 

tire  truth  to  her.  His  easy  words,  and  his  sudden 
changes,  for  which  there  was  always  a  reason,  but  a 
reason  that  would  not  stand  any  test  of  sincerity, 
sounded  different  to  her  now.  Would  she  ever  be 
persuaded  and  convinced  by  them  again? 

He  hardly  knew  how  much  of  truth  and  how  much 
of  falsehood  there  was  in  his  words  himself.  Although 
he  had  played  lightly  with  the  idea  of  going  to  Dart- 
head — his  friend  had  asked  him  if  he  knew  of  a  curate, 
but  it  was  not  certain  that  he  would  accept  the  offer 
he  would  make  of  himself,  or  that  he  had  not  by  this 
time  found  one — all  his  thoughts  had  been  taken  up 
with  the  fight  he  was  going  to  have  with  Graf  ton.  It 
was  to  have  begun  that  very  evening  over  Grafton's 
dinner  table,  with  a  statement  of  exactly  where  he. 
stood  that  should  be  unmistakeable.  Yesterday  he 
had  been  unprepared,  but  now  he  had  his  speeches 
ready;  he  had  been  rehearsing  some  of  them  when  his 
wife  had  come  in  to  him.  Grafton  would  knuckle  un- 
der; men  of  the  Vicar's  temperament  never  allow  for 
answers  to  the  speeches  they  compose  beforehand. 

He  had  not  projected  his  mind  clearly  into  the 
future,  as  to  what  should  happen  after  he  had  gained 
his  victory.  Grafton  had  said  that  if  he  stayed 
on  at  Abington  he  should  no  longer  treat  him  as  a 
friend.  Perhaps  he  imagined  him  so  overcome  by  his 
defeat  that  he  would  hardly  dare  to  hold  aloof  from 
him.  Perhaps  a  little  whisper  of  reason  in  a  corner 
of  his  mind  prepared  him  for  that  complete  revulsion 
of  feeling  which  came  to  him  under  his  wife's  unex- 


THE   VICAR'S   DECISION  91 

pected  attack,  and  made  him  as  eager  to  escape  the 
contest,  and  to  go,  as  a  few  minutes  earlier  he  had 
been  to  engage  in  it  and  to  stay  on  immoveable. 

He  had  hardly  had  time  to  gauge  the  importance 
of  her  change  of  attitude  towards  him.  He  had  not 
been  able  to  beat  down  her  awkward  enquiries  into 
his  conduct  as  previously  he  had  always  nipped  the 
mildest  of  protests  from  her,  and  kept  his  dominance 
over  her.  But  he  was  far  from  suspecting  that  his 
reign  of  unreason  was  over.  She  had  gone  farther  in 
questioning,  and  even  criticising  him,  than  ever  before, 
but  he  only  had  to  treat  her  with  a  little  more  care  to 
bring  her  to  his  feet  again,  accepting  and  for  the  most 
part  admiring  everything  that  he  said  or  did. 

But  another  little  whisper  of  caution  from  a  corner 
of  his  mind  warned  him  that  he  had  better  cut  the 
knot  of  the  difficulties  which  had  at  last  aroused  that 
spirit  of  revolt  in  her,  get  away  from  it  all,  and  start 
afresh.  His  mind  swung  round  instantly  to  a  strong 
desire  to  get  away  from  it  all,  and  with  credit  to 
himself.  Before  he  had  finished  the  speech  in  which 
he  broached  his  new-found  intention  to  her,  he  saw 
himself  leaving  Abington  with  the  warmly  expressed 
regrets  of  his  parishioners  in  his  ears ;  and,  if  the  vision 
of  an  illuminated  address  and  a  handsome  piece  of  plate 
did  not  present  itself  to  him  quite  so  early,  it  did  later. 

The  next  morning  Grafton  went  down  to  his  Estate 
Office  in  the  village  to  see  Worthing.  They  had  a  little 
business  to  transact  together.  When  it  had  been  fin- 
ished Grafton  said,  "By  the  bye,  the  Mercers  dined 


92  THE    GRAFTONS 

with  us  last  night.  They  brought  rather  a  surprising 
piece  of  news.  Mercer  has  made  up  his  mind  that  he 
has  borne  the  heat  and  burden  of  the  day  in  Abington 
long  enough.  He  is  going  to  retire,  and  live  in  Devon- 
shire— in  a  village  where  he  can  do  a  little  clerical 
work  for  a  friend." 

Worthing  stared  at  him  open-mouthed,  and  then 
laughed  heartily.  "  By  Jove,  you're  a  wonder,"  he 
said.  "  How  did  you  do  it  ?  " 

"How  did  I  do  what?  I  don't  know  what  you're 
talking  about.  I'm  telling  you  about  Mercer.  It's  a 
charming  house  they're  going  to.  Mrs.  Mercer  brought 
a  photograph  of  it.  Mercer  doesn't  want  to  live  in 
idleness.  Though  he's  borne  the  burden  and  heat  of 
the  day  in  this  humming  hive  of  population,  he  still 
feels  he  has  a  few  more  years  of  work  in  him  for  the 
good  of  the  community.  He  isn't  going  to  be  a  curate 
exactly ;  he's  going  to  help  his  friend,  if  he  doesn't  fall 
out  with  him — but  he  didn't  say  that." 

"  Is  he  really  going,  or  are  you  pulling  my  leg?  " 

"  Why  should  I  pull  your  leg?  He's  going  next 
month.  He's  already  looking  about  for  somebody 
to  get  up  a  testimonial  to  him.  He  didn't  tell  me  that 
either,  but  I  gathered  it.  He  hoped  there'd  be  no  fuss. 
He'd  prefer  to  say  good-bye  to  his  friends  and  go 
quietly — no  illuminated  addresses,  or  anything  of  that 
sort.  But  I  gathered  that  he  won't  refuse  one  if  it  is 
offered.  I  rather  fancy  he  has  you  in  his  mind,  James, 
as  the  right  person  to  see  about  it." 

"  I'm  damned  if  I  do,"  said  Worthing. 


CHAPTER  VII 
A  MORNING  RIDE 

CAROLINE  and  her  father  rode  out  very  early  one  morn- 
ing at  the  beginning  of  June.  One  of  the  habits  they 
had  formed  was  to  seize  to  themselves  the  delicious 
freshness  of  the  new  day,  unspoilt  by  the  smoke  and 
stir  of  towns. 

She  and  he  were  alone  at  the  Abbey.  After  more 
than  a  year  in  which  the  London  house  had  scarcely 
been  used,  they  were  beginning  to  discuss  the  advis- 
ability of  giving  it  up  altogether.  They  discussed  it 
now  as  they  rode  across  the  dewy  grass  of  the  park, 
on  their  way  to  the  high  ground  which  would  bring 
them  to  their  favourite  view  across  miles  of  southward 
facing  country  to  the  sea. 

"  You  see,  darling,"  Caroline  was  saying,  "  we  always 
want  to  be  here  when  we  are  there,  and  we  very  seldom 
want  to  be  there  when  we  are  here.  Beatrix  generally 
stays  with  Aunt  Katharine  or  Aunt  Mary,  anyhow, 
and  you  like  staying  at  your  Club  if  you  have  to  go 
up  alone.  Now  that  Barbara  has  gone  to  Paris  the 
Dragon  won't  have  to  be  in  London  to  look  after  her, 
as  we  thought  she  must  if  she  went  up  for  classes." 

"And  what  about  you,  Cara?  You  shirked  most 
of  your  London  gaieties  last  year.  Are  you  going  to 
cut  yourself  off  from  them  altogether?  " 

93 


94.  THE    GRAFTONS 

She  laughed  happily.  "  Fancy  wanting  London 
gaieties  when  you  can  have  this ! "  she  said.  "  I  sang 
for  joy  this  morning  when  I  woke  up  and  found  myself 
here  instead  of  in  London." 

"Yes,  that's  all  very  well,"  he  said.  "I  feel  like 
that  myself,  though  I  suppose  that  at  my  age  no  satis- 
faction is  quite  as  hilarious  as  it  is  at  yours.  But  it 
isn't  only  the  gaieties  that  you  miss  by  cutting  your- 
self off  from  London.  It's  being  in  the  swim.  When 
you've  been  in  the  swim  as  long  as  I  have,  you  know 
how  much  of  it  is  necessary  to  you  and  how  much 
isn't.  And  you  don't  lose  all  that  you've  gained  for 
yourself  when  you  begin  to  sit  lightly  to  it  all.  But 
you  have  to  gain  it  first." 

"  I'm  not  sure  that  I  want  to  gain  more  than  I 
have,"  she  said.  "  I  have  heaps  of  friends,  and  we 
see  a  good  many  of  them  down  here.  I  like  seeing 
those  who  really  do  count  in  that  way;  you  get  to 
know  them  better.  It's  the  background  of  life  that 
I  love  so  in  the  country.  You  belong  to  yourself 
more.  Things  come  to  you  and  you  don't  have  to  go 
out  to  find  them.  I  believe  you  feel  that  too,  Daddy." 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  he  said,  "  more  than  I  should  have 
thought  possible  a  year  ago.  But  still  I  can't  see  that 
it  is  quite  the  right  thing  for  you  to  bury  yourself 
down  here  entirely." 

"  Don't  you  feel  that  it's  nice  to  have  me  here  to 
welcome  you  when  you  come  home?"  she  asked. 

"  Oh,  my  darling,"  he  said,  "  nothing  could  be  better 
— for  me.  It's  you  I'm  thinking  of." 


A   MORNING   RIDE  95 

Barbara  had  been  sent  off,  protesting,  to  a  *  family ' 
in  Paris  a  fortnight  before.  She  was  to  come  home 
in  August,  when  Young  George  would  also  come  home 
for  his  summer  holidays;  otherwise  she  had  declared 
she  would  not  consent  to  go  at  all.  Beatrix  was  in 
London  with  Lady  Handsworth,  enjoying  her  second 
season,  but  not  with  quite  the  same  youthful  abandon 
as  she  had  enjoyed  her  first.  Miss  Waterhouse  was 
away  visiting,  but  would  come  back  shortly,  either 
to  Abington  or  to  the  house  in  Cadogan  Place,  where- 
ever  the  headquarters  of  the  family  should  be.  Caro- 
line after  a  week  in  London  had  pressed  for  Abington, 
and  had  had  her  own  way.  It  was  true  that  her 
way  would  bring  most  pleasure  to  her  father.  His 
centre  of  gravity  had  changed  from  London  to  the 
country.  Except  on  occasions,  his  work  occupied 
him  not  more  than  three  days  a  week,  and  with  her  at 
Abington  his  home  was  indisputably  there,  as  it  would 
not  have  been  otherwise.  But  he  was  getting  to  be  a 
little  anxious  about  this  increasing  disinclination  of 
hers  to  follow  out  the  life  that  seemed  natural  for  a 
girl  of  her  birth  and  upbringing.  Both  his  sisters-in- 
law  had  spoken  to  him  about  it,  Lady  Grafton  as  well 
as  Lady  Handsworth.  She  was  not  doing  herself  jus- 
tice. They  knew  that  he  did  not  want  to  give  her  up, 
and  there  was  no  necessity  for  her  to  marry  just  yet. 
But  she  ought  not  to  cut  herself  off  from  the  surround- 
ings in  which  girls  of  her  sort  did  find  husbands,  the 
surroundings  in  which  he  himself,  and  all  of  them,  had 
found  wives  and  husbands. 


96  THEGRAFTONS 

He  had  felt  the  force  of  this.  Though  he  hoped  to 
keep  Caroline  with  him  for  a  time  longer,  the  thought 
of  her  eventual  marriage  was  never  quite  absent  from 
his  thoughts  about  her.  He  did  not  want  it  to  be, 
necessarily,  what  is  called  a  brilliant  marriage,  though 
with  a  girl  of  Caroline's  beauty  and  charm  the  most 
brilliant  of  marriages  would  not  be  more  than  her  due ; 
but  he  did  want  her  to  marry  among  the  people  with 
whom  both  sides  of  her  family  had  been  connected 
now  for  some  generations  past,  and  that  was  condi- 
tional, as  it  seemed  to  him,  upon  her  keeping  *  in  the 
swim.'  There  was  an  idea  at  the  back  of  his  mind 
that  her  whole-hearted  love  of  a  country  life  was 
rather  unsettling  her  for  the  right  sort  of  marriage. 
It  seemed  actually  to  have  been  responsible  for  her 
unwillingness  to  accept  the  young  man  whom  for  some 
time  past  he  had  thought,  not  without  satisfaction, 
that  she  might  marry.  Francis  Parry  was  still  in 
love  with  her,  and  a  year  ago  she  had  refused  him  in 
such  a  way  as  not  to  have  made  him  relinquish  all  hope 
of  winning  her.  The  young  man  had  told  Grafton  so 
rather  pathetically  not  so  long  before.  He  had  not 
bothered  her,  he  had  said,  but  wasn't  she  getting 
tired  of  shutting  herself  away  from  everybody?  Was 
his  chance  absolutely  gone? 

The  question  had  made  Grafton  bethink  himself. 
When  Caroline  had  definitely  refused  Francis  for  the 
second  time  a  year  before  he  had  been  well  content 
to  have  it  so.  She  had  said  that  she  had  always  liked 
him,  and  given  her  father  to  understand  that  when  she 


A   MORNING  RIDE  97 

should  be  ready  to  marry  he  would  be  such  a  husband 
as  she  would  choose.  It  was  because  she  was  so  happy 
at  home  that  she  did  not  want  to  marry  yet.  But  now 
he  was  not  so  sure  that  it  would  be  a  man  of  the 
type  of  Francis  Parry  whom  she  would  choose.  She 
seemed  to  have  moved  away  from  the  sort  of  life  he 
represented,  which  was  exactly  the  sort  of  life  that 
he  himself  had  represented,  and  to  which  his  daughters 
had  been  brought  up.  The  fact  that  he  had  refrained 
hitherto  with  her  from  any  reference  to  the  young 
man's  plea,  although  they  had  talked  him  over  to- 
gether frankly  enough  before,  showed  the  extent  of  his 
doubts  about  her.  Although  he  sympathised  with 
her  strong  preference  for  this  quiet  stay-at-home 
country  life,  and  to  a  large  extent  shared  it,  it  seemed 
almost  as  if  she  were  moving  away  from  him. 

They  came  to  the  high  beechwood  from  which  the 
famous  view  was  to  be  seen.  They  sat  on  their  horses, 
and  drank  in  the  tonic  air  which  came  from  the  sea 
across  miles  of  open  country.  The  sun  was  now  high 
in  the  sky,  and  a  line  of  silver  in  the  far  distance  ful- 
filled their  expectations.  For  in  most  conditions  of 
atmosphere  the  view  of  the  sea  was  by  faith  and  not 
by  sight. 

"Isn't  it  heavenly!"  said  Caroline.  "Oh,  Dad, 
you  must  leave  me  to  this;  I  want  to  live  all  my  life 
with  it.  I  shouldn't  mind  if  I  never  saw  London 
again." 

They  were  going  to  breakfast  at  Grays,  the  seat  of 
the  Pemberton  family.  Bertie  Pemberton,  the  only 


98  THE   GRAFTONS 

son,  had  married  a  few  months  before  Mollie  Walter, 
who  had  lived  with  her  mother  in  a  cottage  at  Abing- 
ton.  He  also  had  forsaken  London,  to  settle  down  to  a 
country  existence  for  the  rest  of  his  life.  It  had 
been  necessary  for  him  *  to  do  something '  before 
succeeding  to  the  parental  acres,  and  the  something 
he  had  chosen  to  do,  after  enjoying  himself  for  three 
years  at  Oxford,  was  dealing  with  stocks  and  shares. 
This  pursuit  would  appear  to  be  singularly  fitted  for 
a  young  man  with  connections  but  no  exaggerated 
equipment  of  brain  power.  But  he  was  a  countryman 
at  heart,  as  had  been  all  his  forebears.  A  few  years 
*  in  the  City  '  were  his  tribute  to  the  larger  life.  Upon 
marriage  he  was  quite  content  to  close  that  chapter. 
There  was  enough  for  him  to  do  with  the  management 
of  his  father's  estate  as  a  serious  occupation,  and  with 
the  sports  of  the  field  as  one  hardly  less  serious. 

An  old  stone-roofed  farmhouse,  restored  and  refitted 
to  make  it  a  suitable  home  for  an  heir-apparent,  was 
now  Mollie's  habitation.  It  stood  a  little  way  back 
from  the  road,  and  as  Grafton  and  Caroline  rode  up 
she  came  flying  down  the  flagged  path  from  the  house 
door  to  greet  them.  She  was  like  a  vision  of  the  sum- 
mer morning  in  her  sparkling  bridal  happiness.  Caro- 
line embraced  her  warmly  when  she  had  dismounted, 
with  more  emotion  than  she  could  have  expressed. 
The  happiness  of  others  is  a  moving  thing,  especially 
when  it  rests  upon  love;  and  Mollie  was  supremely 
happy.  Her  husband,  with  a  loud-voiced  geniality 
which  showed  him  at  least  to  have  nothing  to  com- 


A   MORNING  RIDE  99 

plain  of  in  life,  followed  her  out  and  added  his  welcome. 
Thereafter  there  was  talk  and  laughter,  pride  of  new 
possession  and  sympathy  with  it,  until  it  was  time 
for  the  Graftons  to  ride  home  again. 

"  Isn't  it  lovely  to  see  them  so  pleased  with  them- 
selves?" Caroline  said,  when  she  had  waved  her  last 
farewell.  "  Do  you  remember  Mollie  a  year  ago,  how 
shy  and  retiring  she  was?  She  is  like  a  different  crea- 
ture now." 

"  Master  Bertie  is  a  different  creature  too,"  said 
her  father.  "  He's  always  been  noisy,  but  I  like  the 
sort  of  noise  he  makes  now  better  than  I  did." 

"  He  adores  Mollie,"  said  Caroline,  "  and  she  is 
just  the  wife  for  him.  I  love  to  see  them  together. 
You  see,  Dad,  it  isn't  necessary  to  fag  about  in  Lon- 
don as  a  preparation  for  marriage.  Mollie  has  hardly 
ever  been  there." 

She  seemed  to  have  divined  his  inmost  thoughts,  and 
her  speech  surprised  him  a  little.  "  Have  you  been 
thinking  about  that?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,"  she  said.  "  I'm  quite  happy  with  you,  darling, 
if  only  you  will  leave  me  peacefully  to  look  after  you 
at  Abington." 

Her  words  gave  him  pleasure,  but  his  conscience  was 
aroused  about  her.  "  Lord  knows  I  am  happy  enough 
to  have  you,"  he  said.  "  But  I  can't  keep  you  for  ever. 
You'll  want  what  Mollie  has  some  day." 

"  Some  day,"  she  said.  "  Yes.  But  I  have  all  I 
want  for  the  present." 

"  What  about  Francis  ?  "  he  asked,  after  a  short 


100  THE   GRAFTONS 

pause.  "  He  wants  you  as  much  as  ever.  He  told  me 
so." 

She  looked  troubled.  "  I  know  he  does,"  she  said. 
"  He  told  me  so  too." 

He  waited  for  her  to  go  on. 

"  I  like  him  as  much  as  ever,"  she  said,  "  for  what 
he  is." 

"  For  what  he  is ! "  he  echoed. 

"  What  he  is  isn't  what  I  want  now,"  she  said,  not 
without  hesitation.  "  It  would  be  different  if  I  were 
in  love  with  him,  as  I  suppose  he  is  with  me, — poor 
Francis!  If  I  felt  like  that  I  should  not  mind  what 
I  did  or  where  I  went  with  him." 

"  My  dear  child,  you  talk  as  if  he'd  take  you  out 
to  the  wilds.  You'd  live  where  you  liked,  within  reach 
of  London.  He  has  to  stick  to  it  closer  than  I  do,  at 
present.  You  couldn't  live  right  away,  like  this. 
But—" 

"  Oh,  it  wouldn't  be  the  same,"  she  said.  "  But  it 
isn't  that,  Dad.  I  don't  love  him.  I  thought  I 
might,  perhaps,  last  year,  enough  to  live  whatever  life 
he  liked  with  him.  But  now  I  know  I  never  can.  He 
isn't  what  I  want." 

"  What  do  you  want?  "  he  asked,  throwing  a  glance 
at  her. 

"  Only  you,  darling,"  she  said  lightly.  "  Don't 
worry  me  about  Francis.  I'm  worried  about  him  a 
little  myself,  because  I  do  like  him,  and  we're  friends. 
But  he'll  get  over  it,  and  find  somebody  else.  I'm 
heart-free,  Dad.  Really  I  am.  I  love  you  and  B, 


A   MORNING  RIDE  101 

and  Barbara  and  Bunting,  and  the  Dragon,  and  every 
single  soul  who  lives  at  Abington,  except  Lord  Salis- 
bury; and  he's  going  soon.  When  I  begin  to  love 
somebody  else  I'll  let  you  know.  I  don't  suppose  you'll 
have  me  on  your  hands  all  your  life,  but  you'll 
have  me  for  a  good  long  time  to  come.  Let's  have  a 
canter." 

He  was  pleased  enough.  If  she  had  wanted  to  marry 
Francis  Parry  he  would  have  resigned  her,  and  felt 
that  it  was  the  right  thing.  But  he  didn't  want  that, 
or  any  other  marriage  for  her,  yet.  He  only  wanted  to 
be  sure  that  he  was  not  keeping  her  selfishly;  and  her 
words,  and  more  than  her  words,  her  tone,  relieved 
him  of  any  doubt  on  that  subject.  And  her  love  for 
Abington,  and  her  wish  to  make  his  home  for  him 
there  suited  him.  She  was  more  his  at  Abington  than 
she  could  be  in  London. 

But  he  made  up  his  mind  that  the  succession  of 
guests  should  not  fail  at  Abington.  She  must  not 
live  out  of  the  world,  as  he  and  his  like  estimated  the 
world,  at  her  age.  He  did  not  want  her  to  become 
like  the  three  loud  good-natured  horsey  Pemberton 
girls,  who  in  spite  of  their  parentage  and  their  wide 
relationships  would  always  be  country  cousins,  where- 
ever  they  went.  Country  cousins  who  came  from  such 
a  house  as  Grays  were  well  enough  in  their  way,  but  it 
was  not  the  way  of  the  world  that  Caroline  belonged 
to,  the  world  that  she  was  so  fitted  to  adorn,  and  they 
were  not. 

They  had  cantered  across  a  high-lying  common,  and 


102  THE   GRAFTONS 

descended  into  a  country  lane  along  which  they  walked 
their  horses,  ready  for  conversation  again.  The 
hedges  on  either  side  of  them  were  pink  and  white 
with  May ;  the  golden  carpet  of  early  June  was  spread 
all  over  the  meadows;  the  trees  wore  their  dress  of 
freshest  green;  larks  sang  in  high  ecstasy  overhead. 
Grafton  felt  the  delight  of  the  unused  untroubled 
country,  but  though  it  was  a  rest  and  a  refreshment 
to  him,  his  life  was  bound  up  with  other  things  that 
took  him  away  from  it,  even  while  he  was  enjoying  it. 
Stealing  a  glance  at  his  girl's  much-loved  face,  he 
caught  something  of  what  it  was  to  her  to  soak  herself 
in  all  the  happiness  of  nature,  to  wake  and  sleep 
with  it,  and  to  cast  off  from  her  the  fitful  life  of  sought- 
out  amusements.  She  had  flowered  under  it.  Much  as 
he  adored  his  little  Beatrix,  and  sweet  and  kind  as  she 
was,  it  came  to  him  that  Caroline's  was  the  finer  char- 
acter of  the  two.  Beatrix  loved  Abington  too,  and 
the  quieter  life  they  led  there;  but  she  loved  it  as  he 
did,  as  a  change  and  a  refreshment.  She  would  never 
have  been  content  to  settle  down  to  it  as  Caroline  had, 
for  she  had  not  the  same  resources  in  herself. 

"  Do  you  think  there's  anything  between  Beatrix 
and  Dick  Mansergh?  "  he  asked  suddenly. 

She  laughed  at  him.  "  I've  been  wondering  when  you 
were  going  to  ask  me  that,"  she  said. 

"  Oh,  then  you've  noticed  it." 

"  Darling  old  thing !  "  she  said  fondly.  "  It's  plain 
enough  that  he's  head  over  ears.  You  must  have  se.su, 
haven't  you?  " 


103 

"  Well,  I  suppose  I  have.  But  I  want  to  know  about 
her.  She  isn't  head  over  ears,  is  she?  " 

"  No,  she  certainly  isn't  that.  It's  too  soon,  you 
know,  Daddy." 

A  shadow  always  came  over  his  face  when  that  af- 
fair with  Lassigny  was  brought  to  his  mind.  "  She's 
not  still  thinking  of  that  fellow,  is  she?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  expect  she  thinks  of  him  a  good  deal.  That's 
why  she  won't  think  of  anybody  else  for  some  time  to 
come." 

He  did  not  push  his  question.  He  knew  that  that 
danger  was  past,  and  that  if  Beatrix  still  thought  of 
Lassigny  it  was  not  with  love.  That  had  died  in  her. 

"  Poor  darling !  "  he  said  tenderly.  "  You  know 
how  I  hated  it  at  the  time.  But  when  she  was  getting 
over  it  I  sometimes  almost  wished  that  he  had  come 
back.  I'm  precious  glad  he  didn't,  though." 

"  So  am  I  now,"  said  Caroline.  "  But  it  did  leave 
a  mark  upon  her.  Should  you  mind,  Dad,  if  she  did 
want  to  marry  Dick?" 

"Mind?  No.  Why  should  I  mind?"  he  asked. 
"  It's  just  the  sort  of  marriage  I  should  like  for  her. 
I  suppose  they'd  be  away  a  lot  at  first,  but  the  old 
man  is  over  eighty.  It  can't  be  very  long  before  Dick 
succeeds.  Then  they'd  be  living  at  Wilborough. 
There's  nothing  I  should  like  better." 

She  was  a  little  surprised  at  this.  It  had  not  been 
only  his  objection  to  the  man  whom  Beatrix  had  wanted 
to  marry  that  had  so  upset  him  nearly  a  year  before. 

He  answered  the  thought  in  her  mind.     "  I  know  B 


104  THE   GRAFTONS 

has  got  to  marry,"  he  said.  "  She's  cut  out  for  it. 
She  was  so  young  last  year,  and  it  came  as  a  shock  to 
me  that  she  was  already  of  a  marriageable  age.  I 
couldn't  get  used  to  it — that  she  wasn't  mine  any 
more." 

"  Do  you  feel  like  that  about  it,  Dad?  " 
"  I  don't  now.     I've  got  used  to  the  idea." 
"  Of  course  we  shall  always  be  yours,  whoever  we 
marry." 

"  Not  as  you  have  been,  darling.  That's  impossible. 
It  was  old  Lady  Mansergh  who  told  me  that  fathers 
hated  their  daughters  marrying  because  they  had  al- 
ways been  first  with  them,  and  couldn't  be  first  any 
longer.  That's  true,  I  suppose,  if  they  marry  some- 
body you  can't  take  in.  It  would  certainly  have  been 
true  of  me  if  Beatrix  had  married  that  fellow."  He 
never  spoke  of  Lassigny  by  name.  "  But  with  a  man 
you  like  and  respect  it's  different.  You  don't  lose 
everything,  even  if  you  can't  be  first  any  longer.  If 
he's  the  right  sort  of  man  you  gain.  I  believe  your 
grandfather  felt  that  about  me.  He  loved  your  mother, 
and  she  was  very  young  when  we  married.  He  didn't 
like  giving  her  up,  but  he  was  so  nice  about  it  that  I 
took  particular  pains  to  show  him  what  a  lot  I  thought 
of  him.  He  was  a  fine  old  boy.  I  wish  you'd  known 
him  longer,  Cara.  I  believe,  when  he  got  used  to  it, 
that  he  was  as  fond  of  me  as  he  was  of  any  of  his 
sons.  Your  mother  used  to  write  to  him  every  week, 
and  I  used  to  write  to  him  too.  He  told  me  before 
he  died  that  it  had  made  all  the  difference  to  him, 


A   MORNING   RIDE  105 

the  first  year  of  our  marriage.  She  was  his  only 
daughter,  you  see,  and  that  was  the  time  he  felt  it 
most." 

"  Should  you  have  felt  like  that  about  Francis,  if 
I  had  wanted  to  marry  him,  Dad?" 

"  It  would  rather  have  depended  on  how  he  felt 
about  me,"  he  said. 

"  Should  you  about  Dick  Mansergh?  " 

"  I  think  I  should.  Yes,  I  think  I  should.  I  like 
him.  He's  straight.  And  he's  companionable  too. 
Besides,  he'd  be  giving  her  all  she  ought  to  have.  That 
would  count  for  a  good  deal." 

"In  what  way,  Dad?" 

"  Well,  you  see,  you're  responsible  for  bringing  up 
your  daughters  in  a  certain  way.  You  take  a  pride 
in  what  they  become.  You  don't  want  it  all  thrown 
away  on  somebody  who  isn't  up  to  their  level." 

She  laughed.  "  It  all  sounds  very  mercenary,"  she 
said. 

"  I  don't  think  it  is.  A  woman's  position  is  her  hus- 
band's ;  until  she's  married  it's  her  father's.  You 
don't  want  your  daughters  lessened.  It  isn't  a  ques- 
tion of  money.  It's  like  to  like.  Look  at  that  chap 
your  Aunt  Prudence  married." 

"  He  had  lots  of  money." 

"  It's  all  he  did  have.  A  silly  fellow !  Nobody 
thinks  anything  of  him  beside  her.  She  has  to  carry 
him  on  her  back  wherever  she  goes." 

"  Poor  Aunt  Prudence !  It's  rather  pathetic  the 
way  she  wants  people  to  like  him." 


106  THE   GRAFTONS 

"  Women  have  a  wonderful  sort  of  loyalty  in  that 
way.  She  must  have  found  out  his  deficiencies  long 
ago,  but  I  suppose  she  wouldn't  admit  to  herself  that 
he  has  any.  It's  the  people  who  look  on  who  see  it. 
All  of  us  thought  the  world  of  her.  She'd  have  helped 
on  the  biggest  sort  of  man.  It's  all  wasted  on  that 
rabbit-brained  nobody." 

"  Well,  darling,  none  of  us  are  going  to  trouble  you 
in  that  way.  I  shan't,  because  I  shall  certainly  want 
somebody  with  brains,  though  I  haven't  got  as  many  as 
Aunt  Prudence.  And  I  don't  think  Beatrix  will  make 
any  marriage  that  you  wouldn't  like,  now.  She's  had 
her  lesson,  poor  darling!  She  won't  let  herself  be 
caught  again." 

"  I  really  should  like  her  to  marry  Mansergh,  if  she 
cared  for  him." 

"  She  doesn't  yet,  dear.  But  I  think  she's  quite 
likely  to  come  to  it.  I  rather  think  that  he's  strong 
enough  to  make  her." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  BISHOP  FINDS  A  MAN 

THE  Bishop  was  again  visiting  at  Surley  Park.  He 
found  his  niece's  house  a  restful  place  of  retirement, 
and  his  wife  had  confided  to  Ella  Carruthers  that  it 
was  such  a  relief  to  the  dear  man  to  get  away  from 
the  clergy  sometimes. 

He  was  not,  however,  to  be  spared  the  question  of 
the  clergy  upon  this  visit,  for  the  Graftons  were  com- 
ing over  to  consult  him  about  one  for  Abington,  and 
he  had  been  given  due  warning  that  it  would  be  so.  A 
private  patron  does  not  always  consult  his  Bishop  over 
his  appointments,  and  it  was  supposed  that  his  Lord- 
ship would  not  be  averse  from  giving  his  advice  in 
this  instance. 

Grafton  came  over  to  tea,  with  Caroline  and  Beatrix. 
There  were  to  be  guests  at  the  Abbey  that  evening,  or 
the  consultation  would  have  taken  place  over  the  dinner 
table. 

Tea  was  in  the  garden,  which  spread  in  wide  cedar- 
decked  lawns  round  the  great  white  house.  The  Bishop 
had  a  lovely  garden  of  his  own,  in  which  he  could  taste 
the  sweets  of  retirement.  But  there  was  a  remoteness 
about  this  spreading  country  garden,  with  the  fields 
and  woods  all  around  it,  which  he  could  not  get  in 
the  high-walled  pleasaunce  of  his  palace.  He  sighed 

107 


108  THE   GRAFTONS 

with  contentment  as  he  sank  down  into  a  large  cane 
chair  by  the  tea  table,  and  said: 

"  You  have  a  lovely  place  here,  my  dear.  I  some- 
times wish  that  I  had  set  out  to  be  a  country  gentle- 
man, and  dealt  with  beasts  instead  of  with  men." 

"  You  have  to  deal  with  both  as  a  landowner,"  said 
Ella,  "  and  the  men  are  sometimes  more  difficult  than 
the  beasts." 

"  The  men  are  beasts  sometimes,"  said  the  Bishop's 
wife,  who  prided  herself  upon  her  plain  speaking. 

"  Now,  my  dear,"  he  said,  "  we  are  going  to  forget 
all  the  disputes  that  beset  us  as  long  as  we  are  here, 
and  believe  that  none  of  them  ever  come  to  disturb 
the  peace  of  such  a  place  as  Surley.  Isn't  your  friend 
Graf  ton  coming  over  to  see  me,  Ella?  Ah!  but  here 
he  is  with  two  of  those  nice  girls.  What  pretty 
creatures  they  are!  It's  a  pleasure  to  look  at 
them." 

The  Graftons  were  coming  across  the  wide  lawn. 
They  were  indeed  pleasant-looking  objects  of  the 
countryside,  Grafton  in  his  smart-looking  blue  flannel 
suit,  the  girls  in  their  pretty  summer  frocks.  Pres- 
ently they  were  all  chatting  and  laughing  over  the  tea 
table,  and  the  Bishop  was  liking  them  more  than  ever 
for  the  friendly  way  in  which  they  treated  him,  and 
the  absence  from  their  demeanour  of  that  paralysing 
awe  which  so  often  irked  him  on  similar  occasions. 

Tea  was  over,  and  Grafton  had  just  introduced  the 
subject  about  which  he  had  come,  when  a  tall  clerical 
figure  was  seen  advancing  across  the  lawn. 


THE   BISHOP   FINDS   A   MAN       109 

"  There's  my  friend  Leadbetter  come  to  see  me," 
said  the  Bishop.  "  Do  you  mind  talking  over  the 
question  before  him?  He  has  been  in  the  Diocese 
much  longer  than  I  have,  and  might  be  able  to  help 
us." 

"  I  don't  mind  a  bit,"  said  Grafton,  "  but  I  don't 
know  Mr.  Leadbetter  yet.  I  haven't  had  time  to  call 
on  him." 

The  introductions  were  made.  Mr.  Leadbetter 
seemed  rather  vague  as  to  who  the  Graf  tons  were; 
but  he  seemed  to  be  rather  vague  about  everything 
except  the  absorbing  subject  of  Church  music.  He 
was  a  tall  thin  man,  with  a  pair  of  short-sighted 
eyes  that  peered  mildly  through  big  spectacles.  His 
new  parishioners  had  not  quite  made  up  their  minds 
what  to  make  of  him  yet,  but  those  who  had  had  any- 
thing to  do  with  him  had  found  him  thoughtful  and 
friendly,  and  were  inclined  to  accept  him  as  an  adequate 
substitute  for  the  old  Rector  who  had  lived  among 
them  for  so  long,  and  whose  ways  they  had  known  so 
well. 

"  We  were  just  beginning  to  talk  about  a  new  Vicar 
for  Abington,"  said  the  Bishop,  when  Mr.  Leadbetter 
had  settled  in  a  chair  and  had  accepted  a  cigarette, 
which  he  afterwards  surreptitiously  got  rid  of  when  it 
had  gene  out  three  times,  and  both  ends  were  in  a 
shockingly  untidy  state. 

"  Ah,  yes,  Abington,"  he  said,  "  I  called  at  Abing- 
ton Vicarage  the  other  day.  I  remember  that  the  note 
of  the  doorscraper  was  C  sharp.  Mercer  is  going,  he 


110  THE    GRAFTONS 

told  me.  A  very  agreeable  man — Mercer.  You  will 
be  sorry  to  lose  him,  Mr.  Grafton." 

Beatrix  caught  the  Bishop's  eye.  There  was  a 
twinkle  in  it  which  made  her  want  to  kiss  him.  She 
refrained  from  this  exhibition,  but  felt  she  had  found 
a  true  friend. 

"  I  know  who  you  are,  now,  of  course,"  said  Mr. 
Leadbetter.  "  I  remember  that  Mercer  mentioned 
your  name  when  he  came  over  to  ask  me  if  I  thought 
there  was  any  chance  of  his  being  preferred  to  this 
living." 

There  was  a  short  pause,  and  then  everybody,  in- 
cluding the  Bishop,  laughed.  Mr.  Leadbetter  looked 
surprised  for  a  moment,  and  then  smiled  deprecatingly. 
"  Now  I  remember,"  he  said,  "  perhaps  you  won't  be 
sorry  to  lose  him,  after  all." 

This  was  all  that  was  said  about  the  retiring  Vicar 
of  Abington. 

"  I  haven't  many  friends  among  the  clergy,"  said 
Grafton.  "  One  or  two  of  my  friends  at  Cambridge 
went  into  the  Church,  but  I  have  lost  track  of  them 
mostly,  and  I  can't  think  of  one  who  would  be  likely 
to  want  to  come  here.  There  is  not  much  to  offer, 
though  I  should  be  prepared  to  add  to  the  stipend 
for  a  man  who  couldn't  afford  to  take  it  as  it  is." 

He  told  them  to  what  figure  he  would  be  willing  to 
raise  it,  and  the  Bishop  said  that  it  would  give  a 
wider  field  of  choice,  as  they  need  not  think  only  about 
men  who  had  money  of  their  own. 

"  What  sort  of  a  man  would  you  like  to  have  there?  " 


THE   BISHOP   FINDS   A   MAN       111 

he  asked.  "  Don't  tell  any  one  that  I  asked  that 
question,  Leadbetter." 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  the  Rector  of  Surley.  "  I 
never  make  trouble  for  my  Diocesan." 

Grafton  did  not  quite  see  why  the  question  should 
not  have  been  asked.  "  All  questions  of  High  and  Low, 
and  that  sort  of  thing,  I  leave  to  you,"  he  said.  "  The 
sort  of  man  I  should  like  to  have  would  be  one  who 
would  get  on  well  with  his  parishioners,  and  help  to 
keep  us  all  together." 

"  Is  that  the  sort  of  man  you  want,  my  dear?  "  asked 
the  Bishop,  turning  his  beneficent  gaze  upon  Caroline. 
"  I  suppose  you  take  an  interest  in  the  people  around 
you." 

"  What  you  really  want  is  a  Christian,"  said  the 
Bishop's  wife  uncompromisingly.  "  I  suppose  there 
are  a  few  in  the  Diocese,  though  I  can't  say  I  have 
met  many  of  them." 

"  My  dear,  my  dear ! "  expostulated  the  Bishop. 

Caroline  answered  his  question.  "  We  haven't  been 
here  very  long,"  she  said,  "  but  we  have  made  a  great 
many  friends  among  our  people.  We  should  like  to  do 
a  lot  for  them,  and  we  would  help  anybody  who  came 
there  to  look  after  them." 

"  That  is  a  most  laudable  statement  from  a  Squire's 
daughter,"  said  the  Bishop.  "  What  sort  of  things 
do  you  want  to  do  for  your  people  ?  " 

"She  has  all  sorts  of  plans,"  said  Ella.  "We 
have  talked  them  over  together.  I  want  to  do  some- 
thing of  the  same  sort  here  when  I  get  to  know  Mr. 


112  THE    GRAFTONS 

Lcadbetter  more."  She  threw  a  look  at  the  mild  gen- 
tleman, who  was  just  then  meditating  the  final  re- 
linquishment  of  his  cigarette.  "  But  there  are  more 
people  at  Abington  than  there  are  at  Surley." 

"  Do  you  mean  blankets  and  coal  ? "  asked  the 
Bishop's  wife,  "  or  do  you  mean  Chamber  music  and 
lectures  on  literature?  " 

Mr.  Leadbetter  raised  himself  in  his  chair.  "  Ah ! 
Chamber  music ! "  he  said,  with  a  gleam  of  satisfaction 
behind  his  spectacles.  "  If  only  we  could  manage  some 
Chamber  music ! " 

"  Not  a  bit  of  use,"  said  the  Bishop's  wife.  "  A 
nigger  minstrel  entertainment  would  go  down  much 
better." 

"  Caroline  wants  to  teach  the  children  Morris  danc- 
ing and  all  that  sort  of  thing,"  said  Grafton.  "  They 
have  it  in  the  village  where  my  brother-in-law  lives, 
and  everybody  enjoys  it  immensely." 

Caroline  leaned  forward.  "  Anything  which  will 
make  us  all  happy  together,"  she  said.  "  There  are  a 
lot  of  things  which  can  be  done  that  we  should  all 
like  doing,  and  that  would  go  of  themselves  if  they 
were  once  started." 

Grafton  looked  at  her  fondly.  "  I  believe  they 
would  all  do  anything  for  her,  already,"  he  said,  "  but 
she  doesn't  want  them  to  feel  that  she  is  patronising 
them.  She  wants  to  play  with  them  just  as  she  has 
played  with  her  friends  in  London.  That's  it,  isn't  it, 
,Cara?" 

"  Yes,  it's  to  make  us  friends,"  she  said. 


THE    BISHOP   FINDS    A   MAN       113 

"  I  think  that  healthy  amusement  is  a  very  goo4 
thing  for  people  in  a  country  parish,"  said  the  Bishop's 
wife,  "  but  you  must  have  somebody  to  lead.  Is  that 
what  you  want  your  new  Vicar  to  do?  If  so  I  should 
think  he  would  be  quite  willing  to  do  it.  I  have 
never  found  the  clergy  unwilling  to  lead  in  any- 
thing." 

"  I  should  say  the  same  about  the  wives  of  the 
clergy,"  said  the  Bishop,  with  another  twinkle  in  his 
eye,  "  I  think  we  must  find  a  married  Vicar  for  Abing- 
ton." 

"  You  didn't  find  a  married  Rector  for  Surley,"  said 
his  niece,  with  another  provocative  look  at  Mr.  Lead- 
better,  who  met  it  with  bland  unconsciousness. 

"  Music  is  a  great  thing  to  bring  people  together," 
he  said,  "  and  I  suppose  dancing  too.  But  I  have  never 
danced,  myself." 

The  eyes  of  Beatrix  and  the  Bishop  met  again,  and 
this  time  she  had  great  difficulty  in  preventing  herself 
from  embracing  him. 

"  That  will  only  be  a  part  of  what  we  should  want 
to  do,"  Caroline  said ;  "  but  it  would  be  rather  impor- 
tant to  have  the  clergyman  on  our  side.  If  you  want 
to  get  people  together,  he  is  the  best  man  to  do  it, 
and  he  ought  to  know  them  better  than  anybody." 

"  Yes,  he  ought  to,"  said  the  Bishop's  wife. 

"  He  does,  if  he  is  the  right  sort  of  man,"  said  the 
Bishop.  "  I  think  any  incumbent  might  think  himself 
fortunate  in  having  you  to  help  him  in  his  work,  my 
dear." 


114  THE    GRAFTONS 

Caroline's  face  fell  a  little,  and  the  Bishop 
noticed  it.  Afterwards  he  asked  his  niece  why  it 
was. 

She  thought  for  a  moment,  and  then  looked  up  with 
a  smile.  "  To  tell  you  the  truth,  Uncle,"  she  said, 
"  and  to  risk  your  displeasure,  Caroline  and  I  are 
rather  fed  up  with  the  talk  of  a  clergyman's  work.  I 
won't  say  anything  about  this  place,  but  at  Abington 
it  seemed  to  mean  nothing  but  interference,  and  trying 
to  bring  people  into  line  all  round.  Caroline  refused 
to  go  visiting,  as  she  was  asked  to  do.  Of  course  she 
does  go  to  see  people,  just  as  much  perhaps  as  if  she 
set  out  to  do  it  as  a  regular  duty,  in  the  way  that  the 
Coopers  did  here,  and  never  ceased  talking  about  and 
patting  themselves  on  the  back  for  it.  But  she  likes 
to  go  where  they  know  she  comes  as  a  friend,  and  will 
be  pleased  to  see  her.  She  hates  to  think  of  that  sort 
of  thing  as  work." 

"  I  don't  know  why  you  should  think  you  risk  my 
displeasure  in  telling  me  that,  my  dear,"  said  the 
Bishop.  . 

A  week  later  the  Graftons  were  invited  to  dine  at 
the  Bishop's  Palace.  The  invitation  was  sent  to  Caro- 
line by  the  Bishop's  wife,  who  indicated  in  a  few  terse 
sentences  that  a  clergyman  would  be  there  on  in- 
spection, but  didn't  know  it,  and  was  not  to  know  it. 
If  he  didn't  suit  he  could  go  back  where  he  came 
from,  and  nobody  would  be  any  the  worse.  Probably 
her  way  of  putting  it  had  not  been  authorised  by  the 
Bishop,  who,  however,  took  Grafton  into  his  library 


THE    BISHOP   FINDS   A   MAN       115 

on  their  arrival,  and  told  him  that  he  thought  he  had 
found  him  the  right  man. 

"  He  is  quite  young,"  he  said,  "  and  has  not  long 
been  married.  He  has  been  working  hard  in  a  very  poor 
part  of  London,  and  I  fancy  that  his  health  won't 
stand  it  much  longer.  His  father  was  an  old  friend 
of  mine,  and  if  you  like  him  I  think  I  can  persuade 
him  to  come  to  you.  He  hasn't  any  money  of  his 
own,  but  what  you  mentioned  the  other  day  will  be 
enough  for  him.  His  name  is  Gerald  Prescott." 

They  went  up  to  the  drawing-room,  where  a  little 
group  was  standing  by  one  of  the  windows,  admiring 
the  view  of  the  garden,  with  the  piled  masonry  of 
the  Cathedral  rising  above  the  trees  which  enclosed 
it.  There  were  four  of  them.  Ella  Carruthers  and  her 
aunt  were  talking  together  apart.  The  first  impres- 
sion of  the  group  was  one  of  happy  youth.  They  were 
all  talking  and  laughing  together,  as  if  none  of  them 
had  a  care  in  the  world.  They  were  Caroline,  the 
Bishop's  chaplain  whom  she  knew  already,  and  Pres- 
cott and  his  wife,  with  both  of  whom  she  had  estab- 
lished relations  almost  upon  the  first  words  of  intro- 
duction. 

Grafton's  first  impression  of  the  man  to  whom  he 
had  been  invited  to  extend  his  patronage  was  of  one 
hardly  more  than  a  boy.  He  was  very  fair,  with 
untidy  hair  crowning  a  smooth  fresh  face,  and  though 
his  smile  was  frequent  and  pleased  there  was  rather  a 
pathetic  look  as  of  a  tired  child  about  his  eyes.  His 
wife  looked  older  than  he,  though  she  was  actually 


116  THEGRAFTONS 

a  few  years  younger,  and  not  marked  by  the  physical 
weariness  that  showed  in  him.  She  had  rosy  cheeks 
and  dark  alert  eyes,  in  which  there  was  a  motherly 
look  very  noticeable  when  she  turned  them  upon  her 
husband. 

Caroline  was  immensely  taken  with  both  of  them, 
they  were  so  simple  and  so  confiding,  and  so  unlike  any 
young  couple  she  had  ever  met  before.  Both  of  them 
belonged  to  her  world;  that  was  evident  by  a  score 
of  little  signs.  But  they  seemed  to  be  quite  detached 
from  it,  and  indeed  to  have  lost  interest  in  it.  Their 
interests  were  based  upon  a  broad  humanity  which  took 
no  count  of  social  grades.  If  the  Bishop  had  be- 
thought himself  of  his  niece's  protest  against  the  per- 
petual talk  of  a  clergyman's  *  work,'  in  producing  this 
particular  clergyman  for  inspection,  he  was  abun- 
dantly justified  by  Prescott's  conversation.  He  and 
his  wife  both  talked  of  the  life  they  were  living,  the 
people  they  knew,  and  the  things  they  did,  in  the  same 
way  as  they  might  have  talked  if  he  had  been  an  artist, 
for  instance,  living  in  Chelsea.  There  was  the  big 
church  in  the  background,  which  would  correspond 
to  the  studio,  and  what  went  on  there,  not  to  be  too 
much  talked  about;  and  all  around  it  the  atmosphere 
of  struggle,  and  tears,  and  laughter,  and  the  miracu- 
lous events  that  shake  the  lives  of  those  whose  existence 
is  based  upon  no  material  certainties,  but  based  all 
the  firmer  upon  an  immoveable  trust  in  a  providence 
that  may  at  any  time  bring  something  exciting  and 
beneficial  to  pass,  and  at  the  worst  will  never  let  you 


THE   BISHOP   FINDS   A   MAN       117 

quite  down.  The  richness  of  it  all  was  amazing. 
Instead  of  the  picture  of  mean  streets  and  drab  and 
sordid  lives,  into  which  a  man  descended  from  serener 
heights  to  fight  with  poverty  and  crime,  there  was  a 
crowded  stage  of  characters  of  infinite  variety,  play- 
ing with  the  big  things  of  life  which  are  hidden  under 
a  mass  of  little  things  in  the  secured  places,  but  play- 
ing with  them  as  the  gods  might  play  with  them,  who 
must  have  the  biggest  toys  to  amuse  them. 

"  You  seem  to  have  a  lot  of  most  disreputable  ac- 
quaintances," said  the  Bishop's  wife,  when  Prescott 
had  been  telling  them  stories  about  his  friends. 

"  Oh,  yes,  we  have,"  he  said,  with  a  bright  smile. 
"  All  the  respectable  ones  go  to  chapel.  But  they're 
so  dull  that  we  don't  try  to  get  them  away.  There's 
no  proselytising  in  our  parish." 

Caroline  began  to  be  afraid,  as  the  life  and  the  pur- 
suits of  these  young  people  disclosed  themselves,  that 
Abington,  with  its  sparser,  more  monotonous  life, 
would  scarcely  attract  them,  or  satisfy  them  if  they 
came  there.  But  Prescott,  who  was  sitting  next  to 
her  at  dinner,  said  to  her  in  a  low  voice :  "  How  do 
you  think  she's  looking?  She's  always  lived  in  the 
country ;  she's  apt  to  get  a  little  run  down  in  a 
town." 

Caroline  reassured  him,  after  a  glance  at  his  wife, 
who  looked  the  picture  of  health  and  vigour,  and 
he  seemed  relieved.  "  Of  course  she  loves  it  all,"  he 
said.  "  But  it  keeps  her  so  on  the  go.  It's  very  dis- 
tracting, a  town  life.  Both  of  us  enjoy  getting  out 


118  THE    GRAFTONS 

into  the  country  sometimes.  You  seem  to  belong  to 
yourself  more." 

It  was  exactly  what  she  had  said  of  herself,  finding 
a  town  life  of  such  different  quality  from  his  distract- 
ing for  self-possession.  "  Would  you  live  in  the  coun- 
try if  you  had  the  choice?  "  she  hazarded. 

"  I'd  live  anywhere  with  her,"  he  said,  jerking  his 
head  towards  his  wife  with  a  boyish  gesture.  "  But  if 
I  had  to  choose  between  the  two,  for  myself,  I'd  choose 
a  town,  because  there's  more  to  do.  We  both  of  us 
like  to  have  plenty  to  do." 

After  dinner,  before  the  men  came  up,  Caroline 
sat  with  Viola  Prescott  in  the  window-seat  from  which 
they  could  see  the  dark  mass  of  the  Cathedral  rising 
above  the  trees  into  the  velvet  purple  night,  and  she 
asked  the  same  question,  in  a  tone  that  gave  Caroline 
a  tightening  of  the  throat. 

"He's  enjoying  every  moment  of  this,"  she  said, 
"  and  he  wanted  just  such  a  change.  We  haven't  been 
away  together  since  just  after  Christmas.  Do  you 
think  he  looks  very  tired?  It  has  been  so  hot  in  Lon- 
don." 

"  I  think  he  looks  as  if  he  wants  a  change,"  said 
Caroline.  "  Fresh  air,  perhaps,  and  not  quite  so  much 
to  do." 

She  sighed.  "  I  was  afraid  you  would  say  that," 
she  said.  "  The  Bishop  said  it  too.  He's  a  lovely 
sort  of  Bishop,  isn't  he?  So  human,  and  so  kind,  and 
not  too  churchy.  It  would  be  rather  peaceful  to  be 
in  his  Diocese." 


THE   BISHOP   FINDS   A   MAN       119 

"Would  you  like  to  live  in  the  country?"  Caroline 
asked  her. 

"  7  should  love  it.  I  always  did  live  in  the  country 
before  we  were  married.  I  used  to  go  and  stay  with 
an  aunt  in  London  sometimes,  and  was  always  glad  to 
get  back.  I  don't  care  about  London  amusements. 
But  we  don't  have  to  bother  ourselves  with  them  in 
our  part  of  London.  I  do  like  that,  better  than  I 
thought  I  should,  because  you  see  people  in  a  more 
natural  way  than  at  the  other  end  of  London.  Gerry 
feels  like  that  too.  I  can  hardly  ever  drag  him  up  to 
see  our  relations,  and  they  hardly  ever  come  to  see  us." 

"  I  feel  just  the  same,  about  our  part  of  London," 
said  Caroline.  "  I've  persuaded  father  to  give  up 
our  house  there,  because  I  like  living  in  the  country 
much  better.  It's  partly  because  of  the  people,  as  you 
say.  You  get  to  know  all  sorts  better,  in  the  country. 
I  have  a  lot  of  friends  among  the  people  in  our  vil- 
lage, just  as  you  have  in  your  parish,  though  they 
live  rather  quieter  lives  than  yours  seem  to,  and  are 
not  so — well,  so  disreputable." 

Both  of  them  laughed,  with  a  glance  at  the  Bishop's 
wife.  "  They're  not  really  disreputable,"  Viola  said ; 
"  only  most  of  them  don't  know  whether  they  are  going 
to  have  anything  to  eat  to-morrow,  or  the  next  day. 
So  they  have  to  keep  cheerful  while  they  have  got 
enough.  Still,  it  is  rather  a  rackety  life.  I  think  I 
should  like  to  be  among  quieter  people,  for  a  change; 
and  of  course  one  does  miss  the  sweet  air  and  the  peace 
of  the  country.  I  wouldn't  mind  a  bit  for  myself  if  I 


120  THE    GRAFTONS 

didn't  think  Gerry  ought  to  have  a  rest.  He  isn't  very 
strong,  poor  darling,  and  he  works  too  hard." 

It  was  the  first  time  that  work  had  been  mentioned. 

"  And  he  will  invite  such  a  lot  of  people  to  meals," 
she  went  on ;  "  and  there  isn't  always  enough  for  them. 
And  then  of  course  he  goes  without." 

"  I  expect  you  do  too,  if  there  isn't  enough,"  said 
Caroline,  smiling  at  her. 

"  Oh,  I'm  as  strong  as  a  horse,"  she  said.  "  But 
we  haven't  got  much  money,  you  know,  and  house- 
keeping t*  rather  difficult  sometimes." 

The  Bishop's  wife  sailed  over  to  them.  "  Are  you 
persuading  her  to  make  her  husband  come  to  Abing- 
ton?"  she  asked.  "She  ought  to.  He  can't  stand 
that  life  much  longer." 

Caroline  looked  up  at  her  in  some  confusion. 

"  Oh,  I  know  nothing  was  to  be  said  about  it  till 
after  you  had  seen  whether  you  liked  them  or  not," 
she  said.  "  But  of  course  you  like  them.  I  do  myself, 
though  I  should  like  to  smack  them  both  and  send 
them  to  bed." 

"  We  want  a  Vicar  at  Abington,"  said  Caroline. 
"  Father  is  the  patron  of  the  living.  Do  persuade 
your  husband  to  come  there." 

Viola's  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  she  took  Caro- 
line's hand.  "Oh,  my  dear,  it's  just  what  I  should 
love  for  him,"  she  said.  "  He'll  get  enough  to  eat,  and 
time  to  rest  sometimes." 

So  when  the  men  came  up  they  found  it  all  settled 
for  them. 


CHAPTER  IX 
THE  NEW  VICAR 

THE  Prescotts  came  over  to  the  Abbey  on  the  next 
afternoon.  They  were  to  stay  there  for  two  nights, 
and  everything  was  to  be  settled  for  Prescott's  induc- 
tion to  the  living  at  an  early  date. 

Both  of  them  were  in  the  highest  spirits.  "  What 
a  lark  it  all  is ! "  said  the  Vicar-elect  of  Abington, 
grinning  all  over  his  face  as  Caroline  met  them  at  the 
door.  His  wife  was  as  excited  and  happy  as  he  was, 
but  when  Caroline  took  her  up  to  her  room,  she  took 
hold  of  both  her  hands,  and  the  tears  came  into  her 
eyes,  as  she  said:  "  Oh,  my  dear,  if  you  only  knew  what 
all  this  means  to  us!  This  lovely,  peaceful  country, 
after  the  crowds  and  the  dirt!  It's  the  dirt  I  hate  so 
much.  You  can't  get  away  from  that.  Gerry  hates 
it  too,  though  he  won't  admit  it." 

Grafton  had  arranged  that  they  should  inspect  the 
Vicarage  immediately  upon  their  arrival.  The  Vicar 
had  expressed  some  surprise  at  the  suddenness  with 
which  everything  had  been  arranged.  He  let  it  be 
understood  that  it  would  have  been  more  in  keeping 
with  the  respect  due  to  his  holy  office  if  he  had  been 
consulted  about  the  new  appointment.  But  at  this 
time  he  was  more  careful  than  usual  to  escape  all  sus- 

121 


122  THE    GRAFTONS 

picion  of  dispute,  having  his  eye  fixed  upon  the  illumi- 
nated address  and  the  silver,  or  at  least  heavily-plated, 
salver  or  tea-service  of  the  presentation,  of  which, 
however,  he  had  as  yet  gained  no  hint,  although  the 
time  for  his  departure  was  getting  close. 

The  four  of  them  walked  up  to  the  Vicarage  together, 
after  a  preliminary  inspection  of  the  church,  with 
which  Prescott  expressed  himself  delighted. 

"  Ours  is  a  horrid  gloomy  thing,"  he  said,  "  and 
you  can't  always  feel  you  are  getting  quite  away  in  it. 
This  is  just  right.  I  like  it's  being  here,  right  away 
from  the  village." 

Their  progress  up  the  village  street  aroused  notice, 
for  it  was  some  weeks  since  it  had  been  known  that  the 
Vicar  was  giving  up,  and  so  far  there  had  been  no 
sign  of  his  successor.  If  this  was  to  be  the  new 
Vicar,  it  was  generally  agreed  by  those  who  saw  him, 
on  his  way  to  and  from  the  Vicarage,  that  he  would  do 
very  well.  The  children  were  coming  from  school 
when  they  returned,  and  he  and  Caroline,  who  were 
walking  behind  the  others,  found  themselves  involved 
in  a  laughing  group  of  them,  and  went  down  to  the 
end  of  the  street  with  a  small  boy  holding  one  of 
Prescott's  hands  and  a  small  girl  the  other,  while 
the  rest  circled  round  them  and  gave  shrill  and  hilari- 
ous answers  to  the  absurd  questions  asked  of  them  by 
this  remarkable  but  none  the  less  entertaining  new 
kind  of  clergyman. 

The  Vicar  and  Mrs.  Mercer  received  them  accord- 
ing as  their  different  temperaments  dictated.  The 


THE    NEW   VICAR  123 

Vicar  was  important  and  patronising  with  Prescott, 
and  his  wife  sympathetic  with  Viola. 

"  I'm  sure  you  will  like  the  house,"  she  said.  "  We 
have  had  some  very  happy  times  here,  and  are  sorry  to 
be  giving  it  up,  although  we  have  a  very  nice  one  to 
go  to.  We  will  do  all  we  can  to  make  it  easy  for  you 
to  come  in." 

Caroline  put  her  arm  into  hers.  She  felt  very  sorry 
for  this  poor  little  lady,  who  had  made  such  a  brave 
show  in  a  situation  that  to  her  must  have  been  full 
'  of  distress.  Caroline  did  not  know  that  her  father 
had  actually  asked  the  Vicar  to  leave,  but  it  had  been 
made  so  plain  all  around  that  there  was  nothing  but 
satisfaction  felt  at  his  departure.  People  liked  Mrs. 
Mercer,  whenever  they  had  a  chance  of  judging  of  her 
apart  from  her  husband,  but  she  had  suffered  from 
her  very  loyalty  to  him,  and  must  have  been  saddened 
at  leaving  her  home,  of  many  years  with  few  to  regret 
her. 

She  responded  to  Caroline's  touch  with  a  little  pres- 
sure of  her  arm,  and  smiled  up  at  her.  "  It's  horrid 
going  away  from  you,  dear,"  she  said.  "  I  shall  be 
quite  jealous  thinking  of  Mrs.  Prescott  in  my  place 
here." 

They  went  over  the  house  and  garden  and  outbuild- 
ings together,  the  Vicar  talking  most  of  the  time,  and 
Prescott's  face  gradually  lengthening  as  he  did  so. 
For  his  talk  was  mostly  of  '  fixtures  '  and  of  *  taking 
over,'  and  apparently  it  had  not  hitherto  struck  the 
Vicar-elect  that  to  be  presented  to  a  living  involved 


124  THE   GRAFTONS 

details  of  this  sort.  He  did  not,  however,  say  any- 
thing as  to  any  difficulty  he  might  find  in  providing 
money  that  had  mounted  up  to  a  considerable  sum 
when  the  Vicar  had  indicated  all  the  expensive  articles 
that  he  had  put  in,  and  all  the  other  expensive  articles 
that  it  wouldn't  be  worth  while  to  take  out.  He  looked 
a  little  less  frightened  when  they  had  come  back  to 
the  drawing-room  and  his  wife  said  boldly :  "  I  don't 
think  we  shall  want  anything  that  we're  not  obliged  to 
take,  Mr.  Mercer.  We  shan't  be  able  to  live  in  more 
than  a  few  rooms  for  some  time,  because  we  haven't 
got  any  money  for  furnishing." 

The  Vicar  blinked.  It  seemed  almost  indecent  to 
acknowledge  a  lack  of  money  in  this  fashion,  especially 
to  a  man  who  had  *  private  means.'  He  turned  to 
Prescott.  "  I  don't  think  you  will  find  it  practicable 
to  live  in  a  few  rooms  here,"  he  said.  "  Your  parish- 
ioners expect  more  of  you  in  the  country  than  they 
do  in  a  town.  You  have  to  keep  up  your  position 
before  them." 

Viola's  interposition  had  lifted  a  weight  from  her 
husband's  mind.  Of  course  she  would  undertake  all 
that  sort  of  thing.  It  wasn't  for  him  to  bother  himself 
about  it.  They  would  be  quite  happy  living  in  two 
rooms  together,  with  the  furniture  that  they  already 
had ;  and,  with  the  enormous  income  of  £500  a  year 
that  would  now  be  at  their  disposal,  they  would  be  able 
to  get  whatever  they  wanted  to  furnish  the  rest.  Nor 
was  he  at  all  subdued  by  the  Vicar's  speech. 

"  Oh,  we  are  not  going  to  be  bothered  about  keeping 


THE    NEW   VICAR  125 

up  a  position,"  he  said.  "  I  expect  I  shall  have 
plenty  of  parishioners  a  good  deal  poorer  than  I 
am." 

With  the  casting  off  of  the  burden  which  had  be- 
gun to  oppress  him,  he  emerged  into  a  condition  of 
extremely  high  spirits  again.  He  drew  comparisons 
between  the  state  in  which  he  would  live  and  that  in 
which  the  Mercers  had  lived.  He  chaffed  the  Vicar, 
and  treated  him  generally  as  if  he  were  rather  a  comic 
character.  He  showed  himself  extremely  irresponsible 
with  regard  to  all  questions  of  management,  both  do- 
mestic and  official,  and  told  Mrs.  Mercer  that  if  she 
hadn't  taken  all  that  sort  of  thing  off  her  husband's 
hands  it  must  have  been  because  she  was  not  fit  to 
be  a  clergyman's  wife.  He  received  in  a  spirit  of 
levity  a  list  of  fixtures  which  the  Vicar  had  typed 
out  for  him,  services  in  the  church,  meetings  for  this 
and  that  in  the  schoolroom  and  elsewhere,  an  itinerary 
of  visiting  for  three  afternoons  in  the  week. 

"  You  have  been  a  busy  little  bee,"  he  said.  "  I 
expect  you've  kept  them  all  in  order  too.  I'm  afraid 
I  shan't  be  able  to  do  that.  But  it  all  looks  splendid 
on  paper.  I  wish  I  could  afford  a  typewriter.  But 
what's  this  word  *  agout '  ?  Oh,  I  see,  it's  meant  for 
'  about.'  Thanks  very  much.  I'll  put  it  in  my 
pocket." 

When  they  had  taken  themselves  off  the  Vicar  went 
into  his  study,  with  his  mouth  set  and  the  cloud  on 
his  Olympian  brow  that  his  wife  had  become  so  used  to 
after  interviews  of  this  sort.  She  followed  him  in, 


126  THEGRAFTONS 

however,  and  sat  herself  down  in  the  high  chair  by  the 
fireplace  to  go  through  with  it. 

"  Upon  my  word ! "  he  began.  "  It's  a  positive 
insult  for  Grafton  to  put  a  man  like  that  in  to  suc- 
ceed me.  And  unless  I  am  very  much  mistaken,  it's 
meant  as  such." 

"  The  Bishop  chose  him,  you  know,  Albert,"  she  said 
quietly.  "  Mr.  Grafton  told  us  that  he  had  asked  him 
to  recommend  him  somebody." 

"  The  Bishop  can't  know  what  an  impossible  sort 
of  creature  he  is,"  he  said.  "  I  am  not  at  all  sure  that 
it  isn't  my  duty  to  tell  him.  In  all  my  life  I've  never 
seen  anybody  so  absolutely  unfitted  to  take  charge  of 
a  parish.  The  idea  of  his  having  the  audacity  to  tell 
me  that  he  didn't  believe  in  regimenting  people.  That 
was  a  hit  at  me  and  my  work,  of  course.  All  that  I 
have  done  here  for  years  past  is  to  be  thrown  away, 
and  the  parish  turned  into  a  bear  garden,  for  a  young 
idiot  like  that  to  disport  himself  in." 

"  He  is  evidently  very  gay  and  lively  by  nature," 
she  said,  "  and  of  course  he  is  pleased  at  coming 
here.  I  think  that  half  of  what  he  said  was  only 
meant  in  fun,  and  evidently  he  relies  a  great  deal  upon 
her  for  all  the  business  side  of  his  work." 

"  She  is  no  better  than  he  is,"  snapped  the  Vicar. 
"  Fancy  a  woman  like  that  going  about  among  the 
people,  and  them  knowing  the  way  in  which  they  are 
going  to  live  here.  If  she  does  go  about  among  the 
people!  But  I  should  think  it's  more  likely  that  they 
will  both  spend  most  of  their  time  at  the  Abbey, 


THE    NEW   VICAR  127 

sponging  on  the  Graftons,  and  trying  to  get  in  with 
all  the  big  houses  around.  You  can  see  they  are  no- 
bodies— not  a  shilling  to  bless  themselves  with.  No 
doubt  it  is  a  great  thing  for  them  to  get  into  a 
neighbourhood  like  this,  and  they'll  make  the  most 
of  it." 

He  went  on  for  some  time  in  this  fashion,  but  his 
wife  did  not  answer  him,  and  when  he  had  run  himself 
down  a  little  and  looked  at  her,  he  saw  that  she  was 
softly  crying. 

He  came  to  a  stop  in  front  of  her  and  said  awk- 
wardly, "  What's  the  matter  ?  It's  dreadful  to  think 
of  things  going  to  rack  and  ruin  in  a  place  where 
we've  worked  so  hard  and  done  so  much;  but  we  shall 
be  out  of  it  at  any  rate.  Don't  upset  yourself,  Ger- 
trude." 

She  dried  her  eyes.  "  I  was  thinking  how  happy 
they  both  were,"  she  said.  "  We  were  pleased  too  when 
we  first  came  here  and  looked  forward  to  living  in 
this  nice  house." 

He  resumed  his  pacing  of  the  room.  "  So  we  shall 
be  where  we  are  going,"  he  said,  "  and  we  are  looking 
forward  to  a  life  of  useful  active  service,  and  not  to 
the  ramshackle  unuseful  life  that  those  two  are  going 
to  live." 

"  They  have  left  a  great  many  friends  behind  them 
where  they  have  been  living,"  she  said,  "  and  they  will 
make  a  great  many  friends  here.  We  shall  leave  hardly 
a  single  friend,  after  fifteen  years,  and  if  we  make  new 
ones  where  we  are  going  to,  I'm  afraid  we  shan't  keep 


128  THE    GRAFTONS 

them.  Oh,  why  can't  you  think  more  kindly  of  people, 
Albert?  We  see  everybody  around  us  making  friends 
and  helping  each  other,  and  we  are  left  out  of  it  all. 
The  people  we  have  quarrelled  with  can't  all  of  them 
always  be  in  the  wrong,  and  we  always  in  the  right." 

"  Oh,  come  now,  my  dear,"  he  said  authoritatively. 
"  We  have  had  that  all  out,  and  I  have  admitted  to  you 
that  I  have  perhaps  been  a  little  too  rigid  in  exacting 
respect  for  my  office.  The  fact  is,  Gertrude,  that  you 
are  upset  at  giving  up  your  home  of  so  many  years, 
and  I  can  make  excuses  for  that.  Let  us  begin  our 
new  life  with  cheerful  hearts,  and  leave  the  past  be- 
hind us." 

"  We  shall  take  it  all  with  us,"  she  said,  "  if  you 
can't  learn  the  Christian  charity  that  you  preach  about. 
My  heart  went  out  to  those  two  young  people.  I 
know  that  they  are  good  and  loving;  you  can  see  it 
in  their  faces — loving  towards  each  other  and  full  of 
love  towards  the  people  they  live  amongst.  I  am  sure 
they  will  do  more  with  that  spirit  than  we  have  ever 
been  able  to  do." 

"  I  can  make  excuses  for  you,  Gertrude,  as  I  said 
just  now,  but  in  accusing  me  to  my  face  of  a  lack  of 
Christian  charity,  you  are  saying  a  very  serious 
thing." 

"  I  know,"  she  said.  "  And  lately  I  have  begun  to 
see  that  it  is  a  very  serious  thing.  You  can't  see 
goodness  where  it  is  plain  to  be  seen.  I  don't  believe 
you  will  find  anywhere  a  sweeter,  truer  character  than 
Caroline  Grafton's.  There  isn't  a  soul  in  the  place 


THE    NEW   VICAR  129 

who  knows  her  who  doesn't  almost  worship  her;  but 
she  has  offended  you  in  some  little  way  and  you  can 
never  say  a  good  word  for  her.  And  I  think  the 
happiness  of  that  young  couple  ought  to  make  anybody 
feel  better  who  sees  it,  but  it  only  makes  you  gird  at 
them.  It  has  been  so  often  like  that.  How  many  times 
have  you  come  back  into  this  room  after  seeing  people 
off  with  a  smile  on  your  face,  to  cover  them  with  con- 
tempt and  anger?  I  know  we  shall  never  be  happy 
wherever  we  go,  if  you  can't  see  how  wrong  you  are; 
and  we  shall  never  have  any  friends — not  to  keep  them. 
We  shall  be  lonely  all  our  lives." 

She  saved  him  the  trouble  of  replying  to  this  un- 
wonted attack  by  going  out  of  the  room,  once  more 
in  tears.  He  walked  up  and  down  for  some  time  after 
she  had  left,  with  a  frown  upon  his  face,  and  once  he 
went  to  the  door,  and  hesitated,  as  if  he  would  follow 
her.  But  he  thought  better — or  worse — of  it,  and 
came  back  into  the  room  and  sat  himself  down  at  his 
writing-table  after  the  manner  of  a  man  exasperated 
beyond  all  bearing. 

It  was  not  his  wife,  however,  who  had  exasperated 
him,  for  he  was  nice  to  her  when  they  met  again  later 
on,  and  talked  pleasantly  about  the  new  home  they 
were  going  to ;  so  that  she  began  to  think  that  she  had 
been  rather  hard  on  him. 

Caroline  found  her  father  alone  just  before  they 
went  up  to  dress  for  dinner,  and  said :  "  Dad,  darling, 
you've  got  heaps  of  money.  Couldn't  you  buy  all  those 
things  Lord  Salisbury  wants  to  leave  behind,  and  make 


130  THE    GRAFTONS 

them  a  present  of  them?  Poor  dears,  they'll  have 
hardly  anything.  They  have  been  laughing  about  it, 
and  I  don't  think  he  minds.  But  of  course  she  would 
like  to  have  a  pretty  house.  She  was  brought  up  in 
one.  She  has  been  telling  me  about  it." 

"  He's  been  telling  me  about  it  too,"  said  Grafton 
laughing.  "  You  know,  I'm  not  at  all  certain,  Cara, 
that  we  shan't  have  trouble  with  that  pair  of  lunatics. 
Nobody  can  help  liking  them,  but  as  a  Vicar  and 
Vicaress  of  a  respectable  country  parish  I  don't 
quite  see  them." 

"Oh,  I  do,"  she  said.  "He  is  just  one  big  loving 
heart,  and  he  hasn't  time  to  think  about  all  the  little 
things  that  most  of  us  make  such  a  fuss  about.  And 
she  has  thrown  herself  into  it  all  because  she  loves  him. 
But  she's  just  like  anybody  else,  and  she'll  keep  him 
in  order." 

"  Do  you  know  the  story  of  their  marriage  ?  "  he 
asked  her. 

"  She  told  me  that  the  fathers  of  both  of  them  had 
lost  all  their  money  before  they  died,  and  that  their 
relations  on  both  sides  had  been  very  much  against 
their  marriage." 

"  Their  fathers  were  partners  in  business,  and  a 
third  partner  let  them  in  horribly,  and  bolted.  Be- 
fore they  had  time  to  pull  things  together  both  of 
them  died,  within  a  month  of  one  another.  Their 
mothers  were  both  dead  too,  and  they  are  both  only 
children.  It's  an  extraordinary  series  of  coincidences. 
The  relations  on  each  side  accused  the  other  of  rank 


THE    NEW   VICAR  131 

carelessness,  and  there  must  have  been  great  careless- 
ness somewhere,  though  they  haven't  discovered  yet 
where  it  was.  I  dare  say  they  were  both  happy-go- 
lucky  gentlemen,  if  they  were  anything  like  their  off- 
spring, and  one  was  as  bad  as  the  other.  So  both  those 
young  people  being  in  the  same  box  they  thought 
the  best  thing  they  could  do  would  be  to  get  married." 

"  She  was  in  a  furniture  shop  for  a  year  after  her 
father  died." 

"  Yes ;  till  he'd  managed  to  save  twenty  pounds  out 
of  his  screw  to  get  something  to  start  on.  An  old  aunt 
of  his  came  round  by  that  time,  but  he  wouldn't  take 
a  bob  off  her.  Well,  I  dare  say  they've  been  as  happy 
as  most  people  on  his  hundred  and  fifty  a  year." 

"  Isn't  it  wonderful  ?  But  they'll  be  much  better  off 
now.  You  will  buy  those  things  for  them,  won't  you, 
darling?  " 

"  No,  Cara,  I  won't." 

"  Dad,  darling!    Why  not?  " 

"  I've  told  you,  haven't  I?" 

She  thought  for  a  moment,  and  then  kissed  him. 
"  Yes,  I  see,"  she  said.  "  You're  a  clear-sighted  old 
Daddy.  I  expect  you've  been  itching  to  do  it  all  the 
time." 

"  Well,  I  have,  to  tell  you  the  truth,"  he  said.  "  I 
should  have  liked  to  tell  Mercer  to  make  up  his  beastly 
bill  and  send  it  in  to  me.  But  I  saw  it  wouldn't  dp. 
They  wouldn't  like  to  be  dependent  on  us,  and  they 
wouldn't  like  to  say  no.  I'll  tell  you  what  I've  had  to 
do,  though,  and  it's  a  good  thing  that  I've  had  a  lucky 


132  THE    GRAFTONS 

stroke  lately  that  will  cover  it.  I've  had  to  promise 
the  Bishop  to  endow  the  blooming  living  up  to  the  tune 
I  was  ready  to  pay  Prescott.  He  wouldn't  have  taken 
it  otherwise." 

In  her  happy  state  of  never  having  had  occasion 
to  consider  money,  she  did  not  realise  the  magnitude 
of  this  obligation.  "  You're  a  little  patron  of  the 
Church,  darling,"  she  said,  "  and  they'll  put  you  in 
all  the  papers." 

"  That's  what  I'm  afraid  of,"  he  said.  "  I've  told 
the  old  boy  to  keep  it  dark." 

The  Graftons  happened  to  be  in  London  for  the 
week  in  which  the  Vicar  took  his  departure.  He  had 
found  out  that  there  was  no  proposal  on  foot  to  pre- 
sent him  with  a  testimonial,  nor  even  to  give  him  a 
farewell  tea.  He  suffered  acute  annoyance  over  these 
omissions,  but  almost  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  kept 
it  to  himself,  and  pleased  his  wife  by  proposing  that 
they  should  give  a  farewell  tea  themselves,  to  the  more 
regular  of  the  churchgoing  parishioners.  This  spon- 
taneous exhibition  of  liberality,  coupled  with  the  ab- 
sence of  any  serious  outbreak  of  censorious  speech  dur- 
ing their  last  weeks  at  Abington,  led  her  to  suppose 
that  he  also  had  taken  to  heart  what  had  become  so 
plain  to  her,  and  gave  hope  of  a  less  stormy  life  in 
the  future.  But,  although  there  may  have  been  some 
faint  reason  for  this  hope,  the  tea-party  had  sug- 
gested itself  as  the  only  opportunity  for  delivering  a 
speech  that  he  had  been  preparing  for  some  weeks 
past.  If  there  was  nobody  who  had  the  common 


THE    NEW   VICAR  133 

decency,  at  the  end  of  fifteen  years'  pastorate,  to  sum 
up  the  work  that  had  been  done  in  it,  and  to  congratu- 
late him  upon  it,  he  would  do  so  himself.  He  had  kept 
records  of  all  services,  classes,  meetings,  visits,  and 
journeys  during  the  whole  of  the  time,  and  put  to- 
gether they  amounted  to  quite  a  respectable  total. 
They  would  see  that  the  life  of  a  devoted  parish  priest 
even  in  a  country  parish  was  not  the  easy  thing  that 
*  perhaps  some  of  you  here  are  inclined  to  think.' 
When  he  had  added  up  his  totals  the  bright  idea 
struck  him  of  dividing  his  income  into  them,  and 
showing  what  an  absurd  rate  of  pay  the  devoted 
parish  priest  received  for  his  self-sacrificing  labours. 
But  when  the  sum  had  been  done  he  found  it  worked 
out  at  about  six-and  sixpence  an  item,  and  he  couldn't 
honestly  make  it  less,  even  by  omitting  to  reckon  in  the 
rentable  value  of  the  Vicarage.  Counting  that  in,  it 
came  to  about  half-a-guinea,  and  however  cheap  his 
sermons  might  be  at  that  price,  he  thought  it  would 
hardly  do  to  give  the  idea  that  he  had  been  paid  ten 
and  fivepence  every  time  he  had  done  one  of  his  parish- 
ioners the  honour  of  paying  him  or  her  a  call.  So 
he  gave  up  the  idea  with  some  regret,  because,  of 
course,  you  couldn't  really  look  at  it  in  that  way,  and 
the  figures  were  sufficiently  startling  if  looked  at  in 
some  other. 

Eventually  the  idea  of  the  tea-party  was  given  up 
too.  Regular  churchgoers  were  found  to  be  few  in 
number,  when  the  question  came  to  be  considered  in 
detail,  and  of  no  great  importance  in  the  community. 


KJ4.  T.HE    GRAFTONS 

The  farmers  were  hay-making,  and  without  a  stiffen- 
ing of  substantial  people  the  affair  would  come  down 
to  a  mere  offering  of  a  meal  to  a  score  or  so  of  people 
who  would  rather  enjoy  it,  which  scarcely  seemed 
worth  while. 

So  the  Vicar  cast  the  dust  of  Abington  from  off 
his  feet  with  no  formal  leave-taking  at  all,  and,  re- 
membering the  thirteen  thousand  oad  engagements 
which  he  had  carried  out,  felt  some  of  the  satis- 
faction of  martyrdom  as  he  stepped  into  the  train. 

The  Prescotts  moved  in.  They  refused  to  stay  at 
the  Abbey  more  than  a  single  night,  and  would  not 
have  stayed  one  if  their  furniture  had  arrived  on  the 
same  day  as  they  did.  For  they  would  not  have 
missed  the  fun  of  a  move  for  anything. 

It  was  not  much  of  a  move.  The  contents  of  their 
two  rooms  in  Bermondsey  made  more  of  a  show  than 
might  have  been  expected.  Viola  had  a  pretty  taste 
in  furniture  and  decoration,  and  the  year  she  had 
spent  before  her  marriage  in  helping  to  furnish  for 
other  people  had  shown  her  the  right  way  to  set  about 
it.  They  had  managed  to  scrape  together  a  little 
money  and  made  it  go  a  very  long  way.  Moreover, 
everybody  helped  her.  Caroline  and  she  made  cur- 
tains. Odd  things  not  wanted  at  the  Abbey  found 
their  way  to  the  Vicarage  and  were  accepted  as  the 
gifts  of  friends.  Mr.  Williams  came  over  from  Felt- 
ham  and  carpentered  gaily.  Maurice  Bradby  was  the 
handy  man  about  the  place.  Everybody  who  came 
to  see  these  new,  funny,  delightful  people  got  caught 


THE    NEW   VICAR  135 

up  in  the  prevailing  excitement  and  did  something,  if 
it  was  only  to  advise  somebody  else. 

Only  the  new  Vicar  did  nothing  towards  the  instal- 
lation of  his  home,  except  appreciate  it  enormously. 
He  was  out  all  day  among  his  parishioners,  whom  he 
found  the  nicest  sort  of  people  he  had  ever  met. 


CHAPTER  X 

YOUNG  GEORGE  TAKES  ADVICE 

ON  a  day  early  in  his  summer  holidays  Young  George 
went  over  to  Feltham  Hall  to  lunch  with  his  friend 
and  schoolfellow,  Jimmy  Beckley.  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Beckley  and  their  eldest  daughter  were  away.  "  You 
don't  mind  putting  up  with  the  kids  at  lunch,"  said 
Jimmy.  "  We  can  shift  them  afterwards  or  make  them 
useful  if  we  want  to  play  games.  Ruth  and  Jane  aren't 
bad  at  tennis,  and  I've  trained  them  all  to  bowl  to  me 
at  a  net.  We  can  have  a  little  cricket  practise  if  you 
like." 

Jimmy  himself  had  reached  the  ripe  age  of  fifteen. 
He  was  the  only  son  of  his  house.  The  kids  to  whom 
he  referred  were  his  sisters  Ruth,  Jane,  Isabel,  and 
Ellen,  who  ranged  in  age  from  sixteen  to  eleven,  and 
whom  he  affected  to  rule  with  a  rod  of  iron.  They 
were  rather  subdued  in  manner,  but  more,  perhaps, 
because  their  father,  who  had  married  late  in  life, 
was  something  of  a  martinet,  and  they  spent  their 
days  in  company  with  an  accomplished  and  decisive 
French  governess,  than  because  they  were  in  any  par- 
ticular dread  of  Jimmy's  rod. 

"  Mademoiselle  will  want  to  jabber  French  at  you," 
Jimmy  warned  his  friend.  "  They're  supposed  to  do 
it  at  lunch,  and  I  don't  mind  it  myself,  because  it's 

136 


YOUNG   GEORGE    TAKES   ADVICE    137 

good  training.  But  you  can  answer  her  in  English  if 
you  like.  She  understands  all  right.  She's  not  a  bad 
sort,  though  apt  to  think  she  has  some  authority  over 
me,  which  of  course  she  hasn't.  You'll  make  allow- 
ances for  that.  She's  been  here  five  years,  and  of 
course  I  was  only  a  kid  when  she  came." 

"  Oh,  I'll  make  allowances  all  right,"  said  Young 
George.  "  If  she  corrects  your  table  manners,  I'll 
pretend  I  don't  understand." 

Jimmy  passed  this  by,  as  being  beneath  his  dignity 
to  reply  to.  "  Lunch  won't  be  for  another  half-hour," 
he  said.  "  We  might  go  and  have  a  look  at  the  gees. 
The  governor  bought  a  new  pair  of  carriage  horses 
the  other  day  which  I  should  like  you  to  throw  your 
eye  over." 

"  Which  one  ?  "  asked  Young  George.  "  I  can  throw 
better  with  the  right." 

"  Funny  ass ! "  said  Jimmy.  "  I  think  the  governor 
depends  too  much  on  the  judgment  of  Kirby,  the  head 
coachman.  He's  a  shooting  man  himself,  and  doesn't 
take  the  interest  in  his  cattle  that  you  or  I  would." 

"  I  like  cattle  myself,"  said  Young  George ;  "  es- 
pecially good  milkers." 

Jimmy  thought  it  was  time  to  rebuke  this  spirit  of 
levity.  "  You  seem  rather  above  yourself  this  morn- 
ing, George,"  he  said.  "  I  suppose  you're  bucked  with 
the  idea  of  seeing  Maggie  Williams.  You'll  be  glad 
to  hear  that  I  told  Ruth  to  ask  her  to  tea.  I've  no 
fancy  for  infants  myself,  but  I'm  aware  some  people 
like  'em." 


138  THE    GRAFTONS 

Young  George  blushed,  but  did  not  allow  himself  to 
be  confounded.  "  Have  you  seen  Kate  Pemberton 
since  you've  been  home  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  When  you're  ready  to  talk  sensibly,  I  may  per- 
haps tell  you  something  about  Kate  Pemberton,"  said 
Jimmy.  "  As  long  as  you're  in  this  rotting  mood,  I 
prefer  to  keep  it  to  myself." 

"  I  wouldn't  rot  upon  such  a  serious  subject  as 
love's  young  dream,"  said  Young  George.  "  You 
ought  to  know  me  better  than  that,  Jimmy." 

They  had  by  this  time  reached  the  stables.  It 
seemed  to  Young  George  that  Jimmy  showed  some 
relief  at  being  told  that  the  head  coachman  was  at  his 
dinner.  He  told  one  of  the  grooms  to  strip  the  horses 
they  had  particularly  come  to  inspect,  and  entered 
into  a  long  and  technical  discussion  with  him  as  to 
their  points  and  qualifications.  Young  George  list- 
ened, not  without  admiration.  He  couldn't  have  done 
it  so  well  himself,  and  his  tendency  to  '  rot '  was  sub- 
dued by  the  time  the  inspection  was  over  and  they 
had  left  the  stables  on  the  way  towards  the  house. 

"  I  say,"  he  said,  "  what  was  it  you  wanted  to  tell 
me  about  Kate  Pemberton  ?  " 

Jimmy  did  not  reply  directly.  "  You  know,  old 
chap,  I'm  not  so  sure  that  you're  not  right  in  pre- 
ferring a  youngster  like  Maggie  Williams,"  he  said. 
"  Girls  of  that  age  haven't  got  our  knowledge  of  the 
world,  of  course.  But  they're  devilish  taking  some- 
times. And  they  look  up  to  you  more  than  an  older 
woman  does." 


YOUNG   GEORGE   TAKES   ADVICE    139 

"  I  like  Maggie  all  right,"  said  Young  George,  with 
elaborate  unconcern.  "  She's  very  lively  and  amusing; 
but  I've  never  said  I  was  gone  on  her,  as  you've  said 
you  were  on  Kate  Pemberton." 

"  No,  you  haven't  said  it,"  said  Jimmy  significantly. 
"  However,  I  don't  want  to  press  for  confidences  you 
don't  care  about  giving  me.  About  Kate  Pemberton — 
I  must  confess  I  have  thought  a  good  deal  about  her 
for  the  last  two  years — at  least  in  the  hunting  season 
I  have;  it  calmed  down  a  bit  last  summer.  Nobody 
could  help  admiring  her  on  a  horse." 

"  She  goes  like  a  good  'un,"  said  Young  George. 
"  I  suppose  you  mean  you're  calming  down  a  bit  now. 
Have  you  seen  her  since  you've  been  home?  " 

"  Yes,  I  rode  over  to  Grays  yesterday  afternoon. 
That's  what  I  wanted  to  tell  you  about.  There  was 
a  fellow  there  called  Colonel  Webster;  I  think  he's  a 
Gunner.  Unless  I'm  very  much  mistaken  he's  there 
for  one  purpose  and  one  purpose  only." 

Young  George  was  impressed.  "  Did  she  seem  to 
like  him?  "  he  asked. 

"  She  couldn't  be  expected  to  show  that  before  me," 
said  Jimmy.  "  I  must  say  she  was  as  nice  as  ever. 
She  knows  how  to  treat  a  fellow  a  bit  younger  than 
herself.  There's  none  of  that  *  Oh,  you're  only  a  little 
boy  '  sort  of  business  that  some  people  seem  to  think 
so  funny." 

"  If  you  mean  Barbara,"  said  Young  George,  "  it's 
only  her  fun.  She  does  the  same  sort  of  thing  to  me, 
and  I  don't  mind  it." 


140  THE    GRAFTONS 

"  I  wasn't  thinking  of  Barbara,"  said  Jimmy,  "  I 
know  it's  only  rotting  with  her,  and  we  rot  her  in  re- 
turn. When  is  Barbara  coming  back,  by  the  bye?" 

"  Monday,  I  think.  Well,  go  on — about  the  Colonel 
who  has  cut  you  out." 

"  That's  just  the  whole  point,  my  son,"  said  Jimmy. 
"  I'm  not  going  to  let  him  cut  me  out." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  then — challenge  him 
with  pistols  ?  " 

"  No,  I'm  going  to  retire.  To  tell  you  the  honest, 
I'm  not  sure  I  haven't  made  rather  an  ass  of  myself 
over  Kate." 

"  Oh,  don't  say  that,  Jimmy." 

"  How  old  should  you  say  she  was,  now?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  ,  I  should  think  about  thirty." 

"  Oh,  give  her  a  chance,  old  man.  I  happen  to  know 
she's  twenty-six.  Well,  you  see  it's  all  right  now.  I 
reckon  that  fellows  of  our  age,  who  have  knocked  about 
a  bit  and  know  what's  what,  are  equal  to  girls  of  ten 
years  or  so  older.  In  fact,  Kate  has  always  treated 
me  as  an  equal,  as  I  told  you,  and  in  a  good  many 
things  she's  deferred  to  my  opinion.  At  the  same 
time,  you've  got  to  look  ahead  a  bit.  You  know  your- 
self that  a  man  of  twenty-six  is  still  young.  7  shall 
be  all  right  in  ten  years'  time,  but  I  ask  myself  what 
she'll  be— eh?" 

"  A  bit  long  in  the  tooth,"  suggested  Young  George. 

"  Well,  there  you  are,"  said  Jimmy.  "  I  shall  al- 
ways have  a  friendly  feeling  for  Kate.  After  all,  she 
was  the  first  girl  I  really  cared  about.  Others  before 


YOUNG  GEORGE  TAKES  ADVICE 

her  were  just  fancies  that  I  grew  out  of.  I  think  she'll 
always  remember  me  too.  We've  had  some  good  times 
together.  But  I  think  it's  time  it  ended  now.  I  shall 
make  a  few  enquiries  about  this  fellow  Webster,  and 
if  I  find  that  he's  a  decent  chap,  and  means  to  run 
straight,  as  I've  no  reason  to  suppose  he  doesn't,  I 
shall  stand  aside." 

"  Well,  I  think  it's  very  noble  of  you,"  said  Young 
George.  "  I  say,  what's  the  French  for  *  How  do  you 
do?'" 

Mademoiselle  was  standing  at  the  hall  door,  and 
somewhat  ruffled  Jimmy's  dignity  by  enquiring  in 
voluble  French  whether  he  hadn't  heard  the  gong  five 
minutes  ago  and  whether  he  had  already  washed  his 
hands  for  lunch.  She  smiled  affably  at  Young  George, 
however,  as  she  shook  hands,  with  him,  and  said  that 
evidently  in  the  vacations  one  must  not  be  too  exigent 
as  to  punctuality. 

"  Commencez  done,  Mam'selle,"  said  Jimmy.  "  Nous 
aliens  laver  les  mains,  moi  et  Monsieur  Grafton.  Nous 
descendons  toute  de  suite." 

"  I  say,  you  can  chuck  it  off ! "  said  Young  George 
admiringly,  as  they  went  upstairs ;  and  Jimmy  felt  his 
self-respect  restored.  "  I've  picked  it  up  going 
abroad,"  he  said.  "  You've  got  to  be  pretty  good  at 
it  for  Diplomacy,  you  know.  May  as  well  get  used  to 
it  early." 

"  I  thought  you'd  chucked  the  idea  of  Diplomacy." 

"  Ah,  that's  when  I  thought  I  should  want  to  make 
money — you  know." 


142  THE    GRAFTONS 

"  Oh,  I  see.     You  were  going  to  chuck  Oxford  too." 

"  I  shall  go  to  Oxford.  The  governor  was  there. 
Pity  to  break  the  tradition.  And  you  may  as  well  have 
a  good  time  while  you're  young.  I  shan't  settle  down 
for  some  years  now.  I'm  glad  I've  made  a  clean  breast 
of  it  all  to  you,  George.  It  gives  one  a  good  deal  to 
think  about,  but  I  feel  I've  done  the  right  thing." 

"  I'm  sure  you  have,"  said  Young  George  sympa- 
thetically. "  You  don't  want  to  tie  yourself  up  at 
your  age." 

The  four  Beckley  girls,  flaxen-haired  and  pig-tailed, 
and  Mademoiselle,  were  already  at  table,  and  Young 
George  went  round  and  shook  hands  with  the  girls 
before  taking  his  seat.  He  privately  thought  them  a 
very  dull  lot,  being  used  to  the  gay  talkativeness  of 
his  own  sisters,  which  was  a  great  contrast  to  their 
don't-speak-till-you're-spoken-to  manner,  but  he  did 
not  allow  his  opinion  to  be  apparent ;  and  he  was  ex- 
cessively liked  in  the  Beckley  family,  the  younger  mem- 
bers of  which,  always  excepting  the  son  of  the  house, 
were  not  accustomed  to  so  much  notice  as  Young 
George  gave  them.  Mademoiselle  liked  him  also,  and 
had  said  of  him  that  his  manners  were  as  good  as  those 
of  a  young  Frenchman.  If  the  Beckley  girls  had  not 
thought  that  they  were  a  good  deal  better  this  well- 
meant  commendation  would  have  reduced  him  in  their 
eyes;  for  they  hated  all  things  French  with  a  deadly 
hatred. 

Mademoiselle,  out  of  compliment  to  Young  George, 
permitted  English  to  be  spoken  during  the  meal.  It 


YOUNG   GEORGE    TAKES   ADVICE    143 

was  only  Jimmy  who  forgot  the  permission  occasion- 
ally, his  sisters  being  rejoiced  to  be  freed  from  the 
shackles  of  the  detested  tongue,  and  taking  a  more 
lively  part  in  the  conversation  in  consequence.  Young 
George  found  Ruth,  next  to  whom  he  sat,  more  sym- 
pathetic than  he  had  been  aware  of.  She  had  a  great 
admiration  for  Barbara,  whose  freedom  of  speech  and 
action  she  secretly  envied,  and  Young  George,  who 
was  proud  of  all  his  sisters,  told  several  anecdotes 
of  Barbara's  ready  wit,  which  were  well  received. 

"  Qu'elle  est  mignonne,  cette  petite,  n'est  ce  pas, 
Mam'selle?"  said  Jimmy,  after  a  story  which  had 
been  greeted  with  approving  laughter. 

"  If  she  heard  you  calling  her  *  petite  '  she  would 
smack  your  'ead,  vieux  grandpere,"  said  Mademoiselle. 
"  I  know  her.  And  I  have  told  you  that  you  need  not 
speak  French.  You  are  not  so  ready  with  it  when 
you  don't  want  to  make  a  show  off." 

"  I'd  offer  you  a  cigarette  in  the  governor's  room," 
said  Jimmy  after  lunch,  "  but  Mam'selle  would  be  quite 
likely  to  come  in  and  kick  up  a  fuss.  They're  very 
trying,  these  foreign  women.  But  she's  been  with 
us  so  long  one's  got  to  humour  her.  We  might  go  and 
sit  by  the  tennis  lawn  till  the  girls  come  out.  We 
can  smoke  there.  It's  away  from  the  house." 

"  The  Governor  asked  me  not  to  smoke  till  I'm  a 
bit  older,"  said  Young  George,  "  but  I'll  watch  you  if 
you  like." 

"  If  you  don't  I  won't,"  said  Jimmy,  putting  his 
cigarette  case  back  into  his  pocket. 


144  THE    GRAFTONS 

"  I  wont  tell  anybody,"  said  Young  George. 

"  It  isn't  that,"  said  Jimmy.  "  As  a  matter  of 
fact  I've  been  overdoing  it  a  bit  lately.  Do  me  good 
to  pull  up  a  bit.  I  only  suggested  it  to  keep  you 
company." 

They  sat  on  a  garden-seat  facing  the  tennis  lawn, 
and  talked  for  some  time  about  school  affairs,  Jimmy 
showing  himself  less  burdened  by  the  weight  of  matur- 
ity as  they  did  so.  He  reverted,  however,  to  his  air 
of  experienced  middle  age  when  the  talk  veered  round 
to  the  coming  holidays,  and  home  surroundings,  and 
Young  George  said  to  him :  "  You  know  all  the  people 
living  about  here  better  than  I  do !  What  do  you 
think  of  the  Manserghs  ?  " 

"  Old  Mansergh's  a  grumpy  old  varmint,"  said 
Jimmy.  "  Bit  of  a  flyer  in  his  youth.  Of  course  she 
isn't  out  of  the  top  drawer,  as  anybody  can  see.  She's 
a  good-natured  old  thing  though,  wherever  he  picked 
her  up.  She  always  wants  to  stuff  my  pockets  with 
chocolate  creams,  even  now.  I  like  the  old  thing." 

"  So  do  I,"  said  Young  George.  "  She  isn't  Dick's 
or  Geoffrey's  mother,  though.  What  do  you  think  of 
Dick?" 

"  Not  a  bad  sort  of  fellow  by  any  means,"  said 
Jimmy,  "  though  a  bit  off-hand  in  his  ways.  Doesn't 
take  much  notice  of  chaps  younger  than  himself.  Still, 
he's  a  good  sportsman,  and  they  say  he's  a  jolly  good 
sailor  too.  Bound  to  go  up  the  ladder  if  he  sticks 
to  it." 

"  He's  always  been  very  decent  to  me." 


YOUNG   GEORGE    TAKES    ADVICE    145 

"  Ah,  that's  because  he's  after  B.  You  feel  like 
that,  you  know,  towards  the  brother  of  a  girl  you've 
taken  a  fancy  to.  I  was  always  particularly  careful  to 
make  myself  pleasant  to  Bertie  Pemberton.  I  shan't 
take  so  much  trouble  about  it  now,  though  he's  not 
a  bad  chap  either." 

"  You've  spotted  it,  then ! "  said  Young  George  in 
some  surprise. 

"  My  dear  fellow,  it's  as  plain  as  the  nose  on  your 
face,"  said  Jimmy. 

"  Well,  I  only  did  yesterday.  How  can  you  have 
spotted  it?  You've  hardly  ever  seen  them  together." 

"  I  saw  quite  enough,  last  holidays.  The  first  thing 
I  asked  Vera  when  I  came  home  this  time  was :  *  How's 
that  little  affair  between  Dick  Mansergh  and  B  Graf- 
ton  going? ' 

"  Oh,  then  it  was  Vera  who  told  you !  You  do  give 
yourself  airs  of  knowing  every  damn  thing,  Jimmy.  It 
makes  one  think  twice  about  consulting  you  on  any- 
thing." 

"  I  was  half  pulling  your  leg,"  said  Jimmy,  with 
unwonted  meekness.  "  As  a  matter  of  fact  I  did  no- 
tice him  paying  a  lot  of  attention  to  B,  as  long  ago 
as  last  Christmas,  when  we  had  our  play.  She  looked 
topping  that  night;  I  could  hardly  keep  my  eyes  off 
her.  If  I  hadn't  been  paying  attention  myself  in 
another  quarter — " 

"  It  would  be  rather  a  good  sort  of  marriage  for 
her,"  said  Young  George.  "  Wilborough  is  a  jolly 
place,  and  it's  only  three  miles  from  Abington.  It 


146  THE    GRAFTONS 

would  be  jolly  if  she  were  to  marry  him  and  go  and 
live  there.  We  should  see  a  lot  of  her." 

"  There's  one  thing  I  will  say  about  you,  George, 
you're  a  jolly  good  brother  to  your  sisters.  I  admire 
you  for  it.  Other  fellows'  sisters  are  all  very  well, 
but  it  isn't  many  chaps  who  think  such  a  lot  of  their 
own  as  you  do.  I've  half  a  mind  to  take  a  leaf  out  of 
your  book,  and  make  a  bit  of  a  fuss  of  mine.  They're 
not  so  good-looking  as  yours,  but  they're  not  so  bad. 
I  thought  Vera  had  improved  a  good  lot  when  I  came 
home." 

There  was  a  questioning  note  in  his  statement,  but 
Young  George  did  not  catch  it.  "  I  think  they're  a 
very  good-looking  crowd,"  he  said  perfunctorily. 
"  What  I  can't  make  out  is  whether  B  has  taken  to 
him  or  not." 

"  Ah,  poor  little  girl !  "  said  Jimmy  sapiently.  "  She 
was  knocked  over  by  that  affair  last  year.  I  don't 
suppose  she's  ready  for  it  again  yet." 

"  Well,  you  do  know  something,  after  all.  That's 
just  what  Caroline  said  when  I  asked  her." 

"What,  that  she  wasn't  ready  for  it?  You  see, 
George,  a  girl's  first  affair  is  pretty  serious  with  her. 
One  or  two  of  'em  have  told  me  that.  Of  course  she 
thinks  it's  the  only  one,  and  if  she  doesn't  marry  the 
fellow  she'll  never  forget  him,  or  care  for  anybody 
else,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  When  she's  jolly 
well  got  to  forget  him,  like  B,  she  still  goes  on  thinking 
that  it  can't  happen  to  her  again." 

"  H'm !  "  said  Young  George  reflectively.     "  I'm  not 


YOUNG   GEORGE   TAKES   ADVICE   14? 

quite  sure  that  B  isn't  waking  up.  I'll  tell  you  some- 
thing if  you'll  swear  not  to  repeat  it." 

Jimmy  swore. 

"  I  didn't  tell  Caroline.  I  thought  I'd  pump  her 
first.  But  she  wasn't  giving  much  away." 

"  Women  stick  by  one  another,"  commented  Jimmy. 

"  Well,  he  rode  over  to  lunch  yesterday,  and  I  know 
he  meant  to  stay  for  the  afternoon,  though  he  didn't 
actually  say  so.  The  Governor  was  up  in  London, 
and  Caroline  and  the  Dragon  had  gone  over  to  lunch 
with  Mollie  Pemberton.  Well,  they  made  it  pretty 
plain  they  didn't  want  me  with  them  afterwards.  B 
was  as  nice  as  possible  about  it — she  always  is  decent 
with  me — but — well,  I  needn't  spin  it  out,  but  they 
went  into  the  garden,  and  I  found  myself  left." 

"  Wait  a  minute,"  said  Jimmy.  "  Let's  get  it 
straight.  It  was  B  who  got  rid  of  you." 

"  Well,  Dick  did  ask  me  if  I'd  be  kind  enough  to  take 
a  message  up  to  Worthing  for  him,  but — yes,  it  was 
she  who  got  me  off." 

"  Did  you  go  up  to  Worthing?  " 

"  No,  I  knew  he  was  over  at  Wilborough.  He's  agent 
there  too,  you  know.  I  rather  think  Dick  knew  it  as 
well  as  I  did." 

"  Ah !  "  said  Jimmy  significantly. 

"  Then  B  asked  me  to  be  an  angel  and  bring  her 
some  work  she'd  been  doing,  which  was  in  the  Long 
Gallery.  So  I  went  up  there  and  couldn't  find  it, 
though  I  hunted  about  everywhere.  At  last  I  found  it 
in  her  bedroom." 


148  THE    GRAFTONS 

"  You're  jolly  good  to  your  sisters,  George." 

"  Oh,  well,  they're  very  decent  to  me.  I  took  it  out, 
and  they  weren't  anywhere  to  be  seen." 

"  No,  I  suppose  not.  Well,  if  you  ask  me,  I  think 
it's  a  pretty  clear  case." 

"  I  haven't  told  you  everything  yet.  I  didn't  quite 
know  what  to  do  with  myself,  so  I  thought  I'd  go 
exploring.  There  are  lots  of  funny  attics  and  places  up 
in  the  roof.  I  found  a  rummy  little  place  I'd  never 
seen  before,  where  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  priests  usen't 
to  hide." 

"Anything  in  it?" 

"  Only  a  dead  bat.  I  suppose  I  was  up  there  about 
half  an  hour.  I'd  got  pretty  mucky,  and  was  just 
brushing  some  of  it  off  by  a  little  window,  when  I  saw 
Dick  coming  out  of  the  stables  on  his  horse.  I  didn't 
see  his  face,  but  he  looked  as  if  he  was  waxy." 

"  That  would  be,  what — an  hour  after  lunch  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  should  think  about.  Well,  I  came  down 
the  stairs  from  the  attics  into  the  corridor  that  goes 
round  that  corner,  and  there  was  B  standing  just 
behind  the  curtain  of  the  window  looking  out  after 
him." 

"Did  she  see  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  of  course.  She  was  awfully  annoyed,  and 
said  I'd  given  her  a  fright." 

"  What  was  her  face  like  ?  " 

"  Well,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  was  so  surprised  at 
the  way  she  slanged  me  that  I  didn't  take  much  no- 
tice—except afterwards,  and  then  I  thought  it  was 


YOUNG   GEORGE    TAKES   ADVICE    149 

all  jolly  rum,  and  that  there  must  have  been  some- 
thing else.  And  she  was  so  decent  about  it  after- 
wards, and  said  she  was  sorry  she'd  spoken  to  me  like 
that,  and  asked  me  not  to  tell  the  others." 

"Ah!"  said  Jimmy.     "That  tells  a  tale." 

"  Well,  what  do  you  think  about  it  ?  "  asked  Young 
George. 

"  I  think  I'll  have  a  cigarette,  after  all,"  said  Jimmy. 
"  It  helps  you  to  think." 

He  lit  one  elaborately,  and  blew  the  smoke  out  of 
his  nose  with  a  reflective  air,  while  Young  George  waited 
anxiously  for  the  result  of  his  deliberation. 

"  What  happened  was  this,  George,"  he  said.  "  He 
proposed  to  her,  and  she  meant  him  to.  But  she 
wasn't  ready  to  give  in  at  once,  and  he  got  annoyed. 
She  gave  him  to  understand  that  if  he  didn't  like  it 
he  could  lump  it,  not  thinking  he'd  take  it  seriously. 
Now,  lots  of  men  don't  know  that  you  needn't  take 
any  account  of  what  a  girl  says.  It's  often  the  op- 
posite of  what  she  means.  Girls  are  like  that.  What 
you  can  say  is  that  Mansergh  didn't  know  enough.  He 
gets  shirty,  and  of  course  that  simply  makes  her 
worse.  Then  he  clears  out,  and  the  moment  he's  gone 
she's  sorry.  Was  she  crying,  by  the  bye,  when  she 
was  standing  at  the  window?" 

"  No,"  said  Young  George  doubtfully.  "  I'm  not 
sure,  though,  now  I  come  to  think  of  it,  that  she  didn't 
later  on.  She  almost  did  when  she  apologised  to  me 
for  slanging  me." 

"  Poor    little    girl ! "    said    Jimmy    tenderly.      "  It 


150  THE    GRAFTONS 

really  makes  you  feel  rather  soft  towards  them,  the 
way  they  show  their  feelings,  doesn't  it?  I  tell  you, 
Grafton,  a  girl  could  do  almost  anything  she  liked 
with  me — a  pretty  girl,  that  is — if  she  only  knew  her 
power,  and  how  to  use  it.  Never  do  to  let  them  know, 
though.  I  think,  myself,  Mansergh  was  quite  right 
not  to  let  her  get  the  bulge  over  him  in  that  way,  and 
to  cleas  out." 

"  I  thought  you  said  just  now  that  he  cleared  out 
because  he  didn't  know  enough." 

"  Well,  he  needn't  have  cleared  out,  perhaps.  I 
should  have  shown  her  that  it  wouldn't  wash,  if  it 
had  been  me,  and  she'd  soon  have  given  it  up.  Well, 
old  man,  I  don't  think  there's  much  harm  done.  He'll 
come  back  again  all  right,  and  they'll  make  it  up. 
And  when  two  people  make  it  up,  in  that  condition — 
well,  it's  getting  close  on  to  the  time  for  putting  up 
the  banns." 

Voices  were  heard  approaching  from  behind  the 
shrubs,  and  one  of  them  seemed  to  be  talking  a  foreign 
language  in  a  high-pitched  authoritative  voice, 
Jimmy  hastily  threw  his  cigarette  away,  and  made  no 
apology  for  doing  so.  "  They'll  want  us  to  play 
tennis,"  he  said.  "  We'd  better  go  and  get  our  shoes." 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  SECOND  LOVE 

YOUNG  GEORGE  drove  himself  home  with  very  pleasant 
recollections  of  his  afternoon.  He  had  found  the  Beck- 
ley  girls  quite  humanly  entertaining  when  out  of  sight 
and  hearing  of  their  *  awful  old  Mademoiselle,'  and 
when  Maggie  Williams  had  joined  the  party  they  had 
all  enjoyed  themselves  exceedingly.  She  was  a  pretty, 
lively  girl,  ready  to  amuse  herself  in  whatever  com- 
pany should  be  provided  for  her,  and  had  made  it 
plain  that  she  particularly  liked  that  of  Young 
George. 

Young  George  felt  that  he  was  beginning  to  know 
what  love  really  was.  Memories  of  the  way  Maggie 
tossed  her  masses  of  dark  hair,  and  looked  when  she 
spoke  to  him,  out  of  her  laughing  eyes,  beguiled  his 
homeward  journey.  She  was  the  only  girl  he  had  ever 
met  worthy  to  be  compared  with  his  own  sisters,  and 
it  was  an  addition  to  his  pleasure  that  they  approved 
of  her.  He  had  been  a  little  anxious  about  that  when 
he  had  first  begun  to  think  a  good  deal  about  her, 
because  Jimmy  had  been  so  very  contemptuous  at  the 
idea  of  taking  notice  of  a  girl  of  fourteen.  But  after 
Maggie  had  been  over  to  Abington,  and  he  had  waited 
rather  anxiously  to  hear  the  comments  that  might  be 
made  about  her,  Beatrix  had  said :  "  Dear  old  boy,  I 

151 


152  THE   GRAFTONS 

think  you  have  very  good  taste.  She's  much  the  pret- 
tiest girl  anywhere  about  here,  except  us ;  and  she's 
very  nice  too."  And  Barbara  had  said :  "  If  I've  got 
to  lose  you,  Bunting,  I'd  as  soon  Maggie  had  you 
as  anybody.  I  should  scratch  anybody  else's  eyes 
out." 

Even  Jimmy  seemed  to  have  waked  up  to  Maggie's 
charm.  He  had  taken  a  good  deal  more  notice  of  her 
that  afternoon  than  ever  before,  and  had  told  Young 
George  as  he  went  off  that  he'd  only  been  rotting  when 
he  had  chaffed  him  about  her.  In  the  present  unat- 
tached state  of  his  affections,  Young  George  had  had  a 
faint  idea  that  Jimmy  might  be  preparing  to  cut  him 
out.  But,  although  Maggie  had  responded  frankly  to 
his  unusual  attentions  to  her,  it  was  Young  George 
whose  conversation  and  society  she  had  obviously 
preferred.  This  memory  gave  him  an  agreeable  sen- 
sation under  the  ribs  as  he  went  over  the  signs  of  it. 
Jimmy  would  not  be  able  to  cut  him  out,  but  it  was 
satisfying  to  have  his  taste  thus  endorsed  by  a  man 
of  such  wide  experience  in  these  affairs. 

When  he  had  nearly  reached  home  and  was  driving 
up  the  road  through  the  park,  he  descried  two  figures 
strolling  through  the  fern  towards  him.  He  recognised 
them  as  Dick  Mansergh  and  Beatrix,  and  either  some- 
thing in  their  attitude  towards  one  another,  although 
they  were  walking  apart,  or  the  thoughts  upon  which 
his  own  mind  had  been  running,  gave  him  the  idea 
that  whatever  differences  they  may  have  had  were  at 
an  end,  and  the  engagement  which  he  and  Jimmy  had 


THE    SECOND    LOVE  153 

agreed  would  be  such  an  eminently  suitable  one  had 
come  to  pass. 

And  so  it  proved.  Beatrix  looked  up  at  the  sound 
of  his  wheels,  and  signalled  to  him,  and  both  of  them 
came  across  the  grass  to  intercept  him.  Beatrix  was 
smiling  as  she  came  up.  "  Bunting,  darling,  we've  been 
waiting  for  you,"  she  said. 

Dick  was  smiling  too.  "  We've  got  something  to 
tell  you,"  he  said. 

"  Congratters !  "  said  Young  George,  rather  shyly. 
"  I  know  what  it  is." 

Then  Beatrix  stretched  up  to  him  and  kissed  him, 
and  Dick  looked  as  if  he  wished  he  had  been  in  his 
place,  but  did  not  claim  a  kiss  for  himself. 

Young  George  commented  upon  this  in  a  confidential 
talk  with  Caroline  afterwards.  "  He  strikes  me  as  a 
strong  sort  of  chap,  who  puts  control  over  himself," 
he  said.  "  I  think  that's  what  B  wants,  don't 

you?" 

Caroline  hesitated  a  little.  "  Yes,  perhaps  she  does," 
she  said.  "  You  know,  Bunting,  it  was  rather  a  sur- 
prise to  me  when  it  did  come.  I  didn't  say  much  to 
you  when  you  asked  me  yesterday,  because  I  didn't 
think  she  was  ready  for  it  yet,  though  I  thought  she 
would  be  sooner  or  later." 

"  Don't  you  think  she's  in  love  with  him,  then  ?  " 
"  She  wouldn't  want  to  marry  him  if  she  weren't." 
"  Perhaps  he  made  her  say  she  would.     She  looked 
pleased  all  right  when  she  told  me,  but  not — well,  you 
know  what  I  mean — sort  of  carried  away.  - 


154  THE    GRAFTONS 

Caroline  sighed.  "  I  wish  he'd  been  the  first,"  she 
said. 

This  was  immediately  after  Young  George  had  come 
home.  Dick  had  driven  himself  over  to  luncheon.  She 
and  Beatrix  and  Miss  Waterhouse  had  been  in  the 
Long  Gallery  when  his  name  had  been  brought  up,  and 
Beatrix  had  said :  "  Oh,  bother !  I  wanted  to  have  a 
quiet  afternoon."  But  over  the  luncheon  table  she  had 
been  in  higher  spirits  than  during  the  morning,  when 
she  had  either  been  alone  or  sitting  with  them  over 
her  work,  saying  very  little.  This  had  given  Caroline 
the  idea  that  she  was  rather  pleased  that  he  had  come 
over,  after  all,  but  had  not  in  the  least  prepared  her 
for  what  afterwards  happened. 

They  had  all  gone  out  into  the  garden.  Tennis  had 
been  suggested,  but  it  was  very  hot,  and  there  were 
only  three  of  them.  They  had  sat  and  talked  to- 
gether, and  after  a  time  Caroline  had  gone  indoors, 
but  not  with  the  object  of  leaving  them  alone  together. 
If  he  had  wanted  that,  Beatrix  had  given  no  sign  that 
she  did. 

She  had  come  out  an  hour  later,  but  they  had  gone 
off  somewhere  together.  Tea  was  in  the  yew  arbour, 
and  as  she  was  pouring  it  out,  for  herself  and  Miss 
Waterhouse,  they  had  come  up,  and  Dick  had  made 
his  announcement.  "  Well,  B  and  I  have  settled  it  up 
together.  We're  going  to  get  married  as  soon  as 
they'll  let  us." 

Looking  back  upon  what  had  followed,  Caroline  could 
not  yet  gauge  all  that  lay  beneath  the  matter-of-fact 


THE    SECOND   LOVE  155 

air  with  which  both  of  them  treated  the  momentous 
event.  With  Dick,  it  was  not  so  difficult.  Probably 
Bunting  had  found  the  right  solution  of  his  steady 
unemotional  way  of  bearing  himself.  He  was  a  man 
of  strong  self-control,  but  there  were  signs  in  his 
voice  and  in  his  look  that  a  great  deal  of  ferment  lay 
under  the  crust  of  his  manner,  and  would  become  ap- 
parent if  he  were  not  under  the  compulsion  of  hiding 
it. 

But  why  should  he  have  been  under  that  compulsion 
at  such  a  time,  when  love  had  found  its  triumphant 
reward,  and  there  was  no  one  before  whom  he  need  hide 
his  exultation? 

How  did  Beatrix  really  stand  towards  him?  She 
had  always  treated  his  obvious  pursuit  of  her  lightly, 
and  never  as  if  her  heart  had  been  in  the  least  touched 
by  his  suit,  though  Caroline  had  believed  that  in  time 
it  might  be.  Dick  had  been  a  good  deal  in  London 
during  the  latter  part  of  the  season,  and  he  had  been 
there  because  Beatrix  was  there,  for  it  was  not  his 
habit  to  devote  his  leaves  to  a  round  of  fashionable  en- 
gagements. Beatrix  had  talked  about  him  when  she 
had  returned  home,  but  not  as  if  he  had  made  any 
further  impression  upon  her.  Nor  had  there  been 
any  difference  in  her  attitude  towards  him  since, 
though  his  visits  had  been  more  frequent  and  his  suit 
presumably  more  pressing  than  before. 

Certainly,  Caroline  thought,  she  had  not  intended  to 
accept  him  that  afternoon,  and  if  she  had  admitted  to 
herself  a  possibility  that  she  might  do  so,  Caroline 


156  THE   GRAFTONS 

thought  she  would  have  divined  it.  Having  accepted 
him,  she  was  much  as  she  had  been  before.  She  was 
bright,  and  contented,  and  complete  mistress  of  her- 
self. She  talked  of  their  father,  and  of  others,  friends 
and  relations  who  might  be  expected  to  be  pleased  at 
her  news.  They  had  already  sent  off  telegrams,  going 
down  to  the  village  themselves  before  tea.  They  had 
both  talked  of  an  early  marriage,  and  of  where  they 
would  live,  and  of  what  she  would  do  while  Dick  was, 
at  sea.  She  had  been  affectionate  to  Caroline,  but  had 
not  responded  to  her  little  secret  advances  of  love  and, 
sympathy,  which  no  one  else  would  have  noticed  but. 
to  which  she  would  have  answered  readily  enough  if 

she  had  wanted  to. 

i 

Caroline's  heart  was  rather  heavy.  Beatrix  had 
poured  out  all  the  tale  of  her  love  to  her  a  year  before, 
and  afterwards  relied  on  her  more  than  any  one  to 
assuage  her  pain.  Was  she  to  be  kept  out  of  this  new 
love  altogether?  Or  was  there  no  love  that  could  be 
acknowledged  and  rejoiced  over?  Caroline  would  have 
little  to  offer  if  it  was  to  be  an  affair  of  a  suitable 
marriage  only.  Without  love,  it  would  not  be  so  emi- 
nently suitable.  In  the  fu'oire  Beatrix  would  have 
the  sort  of  place  in  the  world  to  which  her  birth  and 
connections  entitled  her.  But  in  the  meantime,  as 
the  wife  of  a  sailor  on  active  service,  if  she  were  to  be 
with  him  as  much  as  possible,  she  would  be  cut  off 
from  a  great  deal  of  what  she  had  been  accustomed  to, 
and  there  would  be  no  settling  down  for  her  anywhere. 
On  the  face  of  it,  her  life  would  be  less  in  accordance 


THE    SECOND   LOVE  157 

with  her  tastes  as  Dick's  wife  than  Caroline's  would 
be  if  she  were  to  marry  Francis  Parry.  And  Caro- 
line had  told  her  father  that  if  she  had  loved  Francis 
that  wouldn't  have  mattered;  she  would  have  been 
happy  with  him  anywherp,  as  Viola  Prescott  had  been 
happy  with  her  husband  in  surroundings  little  fitted 
for  her.  But  without  love  it  would  matter — surely  to 
Beatrix  as  much  as  to  herself. 

And  Beatrix  had  loved  so  whole-heartedly  and  so 
tenderly,  although  she  had  had  only  a  very  short  time 
to  give  herself  up  freely  to  the  joy  that  had  come  to 
her.  And  after  that,  until  the  end  had  come,  she  had 
only  had  hope  and  the  trust  that  was  to  be  betrayed 
to  uphold  her ;  but  still  she  had  flowered  and  developed 
under  it.  Love  meant  very  much  to  her.  When  the 
wounds  left  by  the  destruction  of  her  first  love  had 
healed  she  must  love  again  in  some  happy  time.  She 
could  not  do  without  it.  Wasn't  she  laying  up  unhap- 
piness  for  herself  in  taking  a  love  that  she  could  not 
return  in  full  measure?  And  was  it  fair  to  the  man 
who  would  want  from  her  everything  that  it  was  in 
her  to  give  to  one  whom  she  should  love  as  she  had 
loved  once  already? 

Dick  stayed  to  dinner,  and  the  Prescotts  came,  and 
there  was  an  air  of  excitement  and  anticipatory  pleas- 
ure over  the  whole  evening.  Beatrix  was  in  much  higher 
spirits  than  she  had  been  after  the  news  had  been 
broken  to  Caroline  and  Miss  Waterhouse  at  tea  time. 
She  was  flushed  and  sparkling,  and  talked  continuously. 
Nor  did  she  withhold  from  her  lover  those  signs  which 


158  THE   GRAFTONS 

are  so  sweet  to  one  who  has  gained  the  fulfilment  of 
his  hopes,  when  he  has  to  share  his  loved  one  with 
others,  but  is  made  to  feel  that  there  is  much  for  him 
alone.  Dick's  self-control  was  not  so  much  in  evidence 
now,  however  cautiously  he  seemed  to  be  testing  the  ice 
of  his  happiness  and  finding  it  to  bear.  As  a  newly 
engaged  couple  they  fully  satisfied  Viola  Prescott, 
who  said  to  Caroline  in  a  confidential  aside  after  din- 
ner :  "  Isn't  she  adorable  over  it  ?  I've  never  seen  her 
look  so  lovely  before.  It's  happiness  that  does  it 
all." 

But  Caroline  still  bore  a  weight  on  her  heart.  She 
and  Beatrix  had  been  alone  together  for  a  short  time 
before  dinner,  and  Beatrix  had  given  her  some  confi- 
dences. But  they  had  not  been  such  as  to  lighten  the 
weight.  "  He's  such  a  dear !  "  she  had  said.  "  I  really 
had  to  accept  him,  though  I  hadn't  meant  to  just  yet. 
Now  I'm  glad  I  have.  And  I'm  sure  darling  old  Dad 
will  be  pleased." 

These  were  not  the  confidences  that  she  had  given 
Caroline  after  her  engagement  to  Lassigny.  Their 
father  had  not  been  pleased,  but  his  displeasure  had 
not  stemmed  the  outpourings  of  love.  Now  it  seemed 
that  to  please  him  was  of  paramount  importance.  No 
answering  telegram  had  come  from  him,  and  when 
Dick  and  the  Prescotts  had  taken  their  departure  Bea- 
trix showed  herself  disturbed  by  this. 

"  Surely  he  can't  be  angry  this  time,"  she  said,  "  be- 
cause Dick  didn't  ask  him  first,  I  mean.  That's  what 
he  didn't  like — before.  But  he  must  have  known 


THE    SECOND   LOVE  159 

that  Dick  was  coming  here  because  of  me,  and  he  never 
tried  to  stop  it,  or  said  anything  about  it." 

Caroline  and  Miss  Waterhouse  both  reassured  her. 
The  telegram  had  gone  to  the  Bank — not  very  early  in 
the  afternoon.  He  must  have  left  before  it  came;  and 
it  had  not  been  forwarded  to  him,  or  else  it  had  not 
found  him  before  the  offices  closed. 

She  came  to  Caroline's  room  for  those  preparations 
rfor  the  night  which  they  made  together  when  they 
wanted  to  talk.  But  there  were  no  more  confidences 
;of  any  sort.  It  was  her  father  whom  she  still  talked  of 
in  connection  with  her  engagement  and  marriage.  And 
she  talked  of  her  marriage  more  than  of  her  engage- 
ment, which  she  seemed  to  want  cut  short.  With  Las- 
signy  she  had  been  quite  content  to  wait.  She  had 
talked  very  little  of  marriage,  and  had  seemed  to  have 
formed  no  clear  picture  in  her  mind  of  what  her  life 
with  him  would  be.  She  loved  him  and  he  loved  her, 
and  that  was  enough. 

"  Dick  says  I  can  come  home  as  much  as  I  like,  while 
he  is  at  sea.  I  know  Dad  will  want  to  have  me.  I 
wish  he  had  telegraphed.  He  won't  think  I  don't  love 
him  as  much  as  ever  because  I  am  going  to  leave  him, 
will  he?  I  love  him  a  thousand  times  more.  I  told 
Dick  he  must  never  take  me  away  from  him  for  very 
long." 

"  What  does  Dick  feel  about  Dad  ?  "  asked  Caro- 
line, remembering  what  her  father  had  said  to  her  on 
that  subject  when  they  had  ridden  together. 

"  Oh,  he  loves  him.     He  told  me  he  had  first  come 


160  THE   GRAFTONS 

over  here  because  he  liked  him  so  much.  It  wasn't 
me  until  later — not  very  much  later,  though.  It  was 
nearly  love  at  first  sight,  but  not  quite.  He  says  he 
doesn't  think  there  is  such  a  thing  really.  If  there  is; 
it  isn't  the  best  sort  of  love,  because  it's  only  what  a 
person  looks  like.  I'm  rather  frightened,  you  know, 
finding  what  sort  of  person  Dick  thinks  I  am.  I  hope 
I  shall  be  able  to  live  up  to  it." 

"  It  won't  want  living  up  to,  darling,  if  you  love 
him.  You'll  only  have  to  be  yourself.  That  would  be 
enough  for  any  man." 

Beatrix  flung  her  arms  round  her  neck  and  kissed 
her  warmly.  "  You  know  I'm  not  perfect,  darling,"  she 
said.  "  But  you  love  me  all  the  same,  don't  you?  " 

For  a  moment,  as  she  clung  to  her,  Caroline  thought 
that  there  were  to  be  the  real  confidences  for  whjch 
she  was  aching.  She  returned  her  embrace,  with  her 
heart  in  her  throat.  But  Beatrix  drew  herself  away. 
"  He  does  love  me ;  and  I  love  him,"  she  said,  with  an 
air  of  finality.  But  there  had  been  ever  so  little  of  a 
pause  between  the  two  statements. 

Grafton's  telegram  came  early  the  next  morning. 
"  Delighted,  my  darling ;  love  and  blessings.  Have 
wired  to  Dick,  shall  be  down  this  evening.  Bring  him 
to  meet  me." 

It  was  Thursday,  and  he  had  not  intended  to  come 
down  until  the  following  day.  There  was  no  doubt 
about  the  pleasure  the  news  had  given  him.  Beatrix 
went  about  the  house  singing. 

Late  that  evening  Caroline  came  down  to  talk  to 


THE    SECOND   LOVE  161 

her  father,  who  was  reading  in  the  library  over  a  last 
pipe.  One  of  the  signs  of  his  changed  habits  was  the 
considerable  diminution  of  his  cigar  bill. 

He  looked  up  with  a  smile  of  pleasure.  "  Why,  my 
darling  child,"  he  said,  "  I  thought  you  were  in  bed 
long  ago.  Have  you  been  talking  it  all  over  with  B?  " 

"  No,"  she  said.  "  I  thought  I'd  come  and  talk  it 
all  over  with  you,  Dad." 

He  laid  aside  his  book.  "  Well,  it's  all  very  satis- 
factory, isn't  it?"  he  said.  "Rather  different  from 
last  time!  We  weren't  in  such  a  happy  state  a  year 
ago." 

"  It  wasn't  quite  a  year  ago,"  she  said.  "  And  it 
isn't  six  months  ago  since  she  was  so  much  in  love  with 
somebody  else." 

"  I  know.  I  knew  she'd  get  over  it.  But  I  confess 
I  didn't  think  she'd  get  over  it  quite  so  quickly." 

She  didn't  reply.  He  looked  at  her,  and  asked: 
"  What's  the  matter,  darling?  Aren't  you  pleased 
about  it?  She  has  got  over  that  other  business,  hasn't 
she?" 

"  If  you  mean,  does  she  love  him  any  more,  of  course 
she  doesn't.  But  I  don't  think  she  has  got  over  it  all 
the  same.  It  has  altered  her." 

She  had  drawn  a  chair  close  up  to  his  and  was  lean- 
ing against  it.  He  took  her  hand.  "  Darling  child," 
he  said,  "  you're  too  sensitive.  You're  feeling  losing 
her.  She  hasn't  talked  to  you  enough  about  it.  But 
she  will,  you  know,  when  she  has  settled  down." 

"  She  has  talked  to  you,  hasn't  she,  Dad?  " 


162  THE   GRAFTONS 

"  Yes,  she's  talked  to  me.  Nobody  could  have  been 
sweeter  than  she  was.  I'm  very  lucky  in  my  daughters, 
Cara.  Both  of  you — all  three  of  you — know  that  you 
can  come  to  me  and  tell  me  about  these  things  that 
girls  don't  usually  confide  to  their  fathers.  You've 
done  it,  and  now  B  has  done  it.  She  didn't  do  it  last 
time.  That  shows  what  a  right  marriage  this  is,  and 
what  a  wrong  one  that  would  have  been." 

"  She  would  have  done  it,  last  time,  darling,  if  you 
hadn't  stopped  it." 

His  pressure  on  her  hand  that  he  was  holding  re- 
laxed. "  Surely — "  he  began,  but  she  caught  him  up 
hurriedly :  "  Oh,  I  don't  mean  that  you  weren't  right 
to  stop  it;  but  how  has  she  talked  to  you  about  Dick 
— and  her  engagement  to  him  ?  " 

He  smiled,  and  gave  her  hand  a  little  squeeze.  "  Why, 
just  in  the  way  that  would  most  please  an  affection- 
ate parent,"  he  said.  "  I  like  Dick  immensely ;  I  think 
he's  a  fine  fellow,  and  there's  a  lot  more  in  him  than 
\  appears  on  the  surface.  But  she  spared  me  rhapsodies 
about  him.  She  knew,  I  suppose,  that  I  could  take  all 
that  for  granted,  and  should  be  soothed  by  being  made 
to  feel  that  I  hadn't  got  to  give  up  everything  to  him. 
She's  my  darling  child  still,  and  always  will  be.  And, 
as  I  told  you,  I  like  Dick  well  enough  to  take  him  in. 
They'll  both  be  to  me  what  your  dear  mother  and  I 
were  to  her  father.  I  don't  think  I  could  love  B  any 
more  than  I  do  now.  But  though  I'm  giving  her  up 
I  shan't  love  her  any  less.  And  I  shan't  mind  giving 
her  up.  I'm  happier — for  my  own  sake — about  her 


THE    SECOND  LOVE  163 

than  I  was  when  I  first  had  her  news.  She  has  what 
she  wants  to  make  her  happy,  and  she  has  given  me 
all  I  want  to  make  me  happy." 

"  I'm  so  glad,  Dad,"  she  said.  "  And  though  I  sup- 
pose she'll  be  away  a  lot  just  at  first,  by  and  bye  they 
will  be  living  here,  and  you'll  see  as  much  of  her  as 
you  want." 

She  led  him  on  to  talk  of  the  surface  facts  of  the 
engagement.  The  marriage  would  take  place,  and  it 
was  well  for  him  that  he  thought  as  he  did  about  it. 
She  had  wondered  if  he  would  see,  as  she  thought  she 
saw,  that  Beatrix  was  fixing  her  own  mind  upon  those 
surface  facts,  and  what  his  wisdom  would  make  of  her 
chance  of  happiness  if  she  had  not  brought  the  deep 
love  that  she  had  it  in  her  to  bring  to  her  betrothal. 
But  he  had  not  seen  it,  though  what  he  was  pleased 
with  in  her  confidences  to  him  only  confirmed  Caro- 
line's own  mistrust.  The  rhapsodies  that  she  had  dis- 
pensed him  from  listening  to  would  surely  have  been 
sounded  if  the  impulse  towards  them  had  been  there. 
She  would  have  asked  for  his  loving  sympathy  in  what 
filled  her  own  mind,  and  shown  her  love  for  him  in 
asking  for  it  just  as  much  as  by  assuring  him  of  that 
love. 

But  she  was  glad  for  his  sake  that  he  had  seen  noth- 
ing. She  kissed  him  good-night,  and  said :  "  When  B 
goes  there'll  only  be  you  and  me,  Daddy,  till  Barbara 
comes  home.  I  shan't  leave  you  for  a  long  time  yet." 


CHAPTER  XII 

CAROLINE  AND  BEATRIX 

IT  was  nearly  twelve  o'clock  when  Caroline  went  up 
to  her  room.  Her  mind  was  calmed  by  her  talk  with 
her  father.  She  loved  him  so  much  that  his  content- 
ment could  hardly  fail  of  some  reflection  in  her.  And, 
though  jealousy  was  far  removed  from  her,  it  gave 
her  pleasure  to  think  that  when  Beatrix  had  left  him 
he  would  need  her  love  and  companionship  more.  Per- 
haps it  was,  as  he  had  said,  she  was  feeling  hurt  that 
Beatrix  had  not  come  to  her  for  the  deep  love  and 
sympathy  that  was  there  for  her  in  her  joys  as  well 
as  in  her  troubles.  Although  her  sympathies  had  not 
been  undivided  in  that  trouble  of  a  year  ago,  for  she 
had  believed  that  her  father  had  been  right  and  had 
felt  for  him  during  a  period  of  something  like  es- 
trangement as  much  as  she  had  felt  for  Beatrix  in  being 
parted  from  her  lover,  still  her  heart  had  beaten  much 
closer  to  her  sister's  then  than  it  did  now.  Beatrix  had 
leant  upon  her.  She  had  been  wayward;  perhaps 
She  had  even  been  selfish.  She  had  often  hurt  Caro- 
line, when  the  hurt  in  herself  had  made  her  hard  and 
unreasonable  towards  all  but  the  one  who  could  then 
have  assuaged  it.  But  Caroline  had  gone  through  it 
all  with  her,  and  loved  her  all  the  more  for  having 
shared  her  pain.  It  was  rather  hard  if  she  was  to 

164 


CAROLINE    AND   BEATRIX        165 

be  held  at  arm's  length  now,  after  having  given  so 
much,  and  being  ready  to  give  so  much. 

Her  sadness  came  upon  her  again  when  she  had  shut 
herself  into  her  room  and  made  ready  for  bed.  She 
heard  her  father  go  upstairs,  and  the  house  became 
quite  still.  The  clock  of  the  church  began  to  strike, 
and  the  clock  on  the  stable  turret  chimed  in  on  a 
fainter,  quicker  note.  Before  they  had  finished,  the 
door  of  her  room  opened  and  startled  her  wildly.  It 
was  Beatrix,  who  came  in,  a  figure  all  in  white,  and 
threw  herself  into  her  arms,  and  clung  to  her  sobbing. 

For  a  moment  Caroline  felt  giddy  with  the  shock  of 
her  surprise,  and  the  fear  of  what  was  coming.  But 
she  rallied  herself  and  murmuring  soft  words  drew 
Beatrix  to  the  bed  and  sat  there  holding  her  to  her 
breast. 

"  I've  been  such  an  awful  beast  to  you,  darling," 
Beatrix  sobbed,  "  I  had  to  come  and  ask  you  to  forgive 
me.  I  couldn't  sleep  till  I  told  you  how  much  I  love 
you." 

The  childish  confession  made  Caroline  inclined  to 
laugh  and  cry  at  the  same  time,  but  brought  with  it 
such  a  sense  of  relief  as  was  almost  bliss  to  her  trou- 
bled mind. 

"  I  know  you  have  wanted  me  to  tell  you  everything," 
Beatrix  went  on,  her  sobs  becoming  less  frequent, 
"  and  I've  wanted  to  all  the  time.  But  something 
horrid  in  me  kept  it  back,  and  I  know  I've  hurt  you 
frightfully,  darling,  and  I  shall  never  forgive  myself 
for  it  as  long  as  I  live." 


166  THE    GRAFTONS 

Caroline  swept  the  hair  from  her  forehead  and  kissed 
her  lovingly,  as  her  mother  might  have  done.  She 
felt  immeasurably  older  than  her  sister,  who  seemed  to 
her  a  little  child  again.  "  If  you  tell  me  now,  my 
darling !  "  she  said  tenderly. 

Beatrix  sat  up,  and  wiped  her  eyes  on  the  sleeve  of 
Caroline's  light  dressing-gown.  "  Yes,  I  will.  I  want 
to,"  she  said,  in  a  pathetic  voice.  "  It's  only  you  I 
can  tell  everything  to." 

She  bent  her  head  and  played  with  the  ribbon  that 
lay  across  Caroline's  knee.  "  I  know  what  you  have 
thought,"  she  said.  "  I  didn't  seem  to  be  noticing, 
or  to  care,  but  I  felt  it  all  through  me  all  the  time.  I 
couldn't  be  such  a  hard-hearted  beast  as  not  to  mind 
what  you  were  thinking,  darling." 

A  few  more  tears  and  answering  caresses,  and  she 
told  her  story,  with  her  head  on  Caroline's  shoulder, 
and  Caroline's  arm  round  her. 

"  I  don't  think  I've  behaved  very  well  to  Dick,"  she 
said.  "  I  knew  that  he  loved  me  very  much,  and  yet 
I  played  with  him.  Perhaps  I  even  led  him  on.  But  I 
didn't  know  how  much  he  really  did  love  me,  or  I 
wouldn't  have  done  it.  He's  so  strong  and  so  deep; 
it  was  like  playing  with  fire.  Perhaps  I  didn't  do  any- 
thing very  wrong  till  two  days  ago,  for  though  I'd  let 
him  talk  to  me  I  hadn't  given  him  any  idea  that  I — 
that  I  wanted  him  to  go  any  further.  He  has  told  me 
since  that  he  would  never  have  asked  me  to  marry 
him  unless  I  had  said  or  done  something  to  make  him 
think  that  he  could.  I  suppose  I  saw  that  it  was  like 


CAROLINE   AND   BEATRIX       167 

that.  I  felt,  somehow,  that  he  was  trying  to  bend  me 
to  his  will — no,  not  that,  but  there  was  something  in 
him  that  7  couldn't  move.  And  that  vexed  me.  Oh, 
I  was  a  beast!  We  went  into  the  garden;  I'd  sent 
Bunting  away  so  that  I  could  show  him  I  wanted  to  be 
alone  with  him.  Then  I  led  him  on  to  tell  me  that  he 
loved  me ;  and  at  last  he  did.  Then — oh,  I  hate  myself 
for  what  I  did." 

She  stopped,  and  cried  again  on  Caroline's  shoul- 
der. Caroline  soothed  her,  but  felt  her  heart  growing 
heavy  again. 

"  Well,  I  must  tell  you  everything,"  she  began  again, 
"  but  I  wish  I  hadn't  got  it  to  tell.  It  spoils  every- 
thing. When  he  told  me  that  he  loved  me,  and  asked 
me  to  marry  him,  I  pretended  to  be  very  surprised, 
and  said  that  I'd  no  idea  of  marrying  him.  He  was 
very  quiet,  and  let  me  go  on.  I  said  I  didn't  love  him; 
I  had  had  enough  of  that  sort  of  love,  and  only  loved 
you,  and  Dad,  and  the  others.  I  can't  think  what 
made  me  go  on  like  that.  I  was  a  fool.  But  he  stopped 
me  suddenly.  He  was  very  angry.  He  said  I  had 
known  quite  well  that  he  would  say  what  he  had,  and 
that  I  had  meant  him  to,  and  that  I  wasn't  what  he 
had  thought  I  was.  Then  he  went  away,  without  say- 
ing good-bye  or  anything. 

"  I  was  frightened  then,  and — and  ashamed  of  my- 
self, because  what  he  had  said  was  true.  And  I  didn't 
want  him  to  go  away  altogether.  I  thought  perhaps 
after  all  I  did  love  him  a  little.  Oh,  I  don't  know 
what  I  thought.  But  I  went  upstairs  to  the  window 


168  THE   GRAFTONS 

to  look  at  him  coming  from  the  stables — he  had  ridden 
over — and  to  see  what  he  looked  like.  And  Bunting 
came  down  from  the  attic  and  caught  me  there,  but  of 
course  he  didn't  know  what  I  was  doing,  and  he  startled 
me  so  much  that  I  flew  out  at  him." 

She  laughed  a  little.  "  Poor  darling  Bunting  I " 
she  said.  "  I  startled  him.  I  don't  think  he  has 
ever  seen  me  like  that  before.  But  I  told  him  I  was 
sorry  afterwards,  and  he  was  awfully  sweet  about  it 
and  said  it  didn't  matter  a  damn.  I  think  he'd  have 
been  still  more  surprised  if  he'd  known  what  I  was 
there  for.  Fortunately  he  wasn't  near  enough  to  the 
window  to  see  Dick. 

"  Well,  then,  I  was  rather  miserable,  but  I  was 
angry  too  at  the  way  he  had  spoken  to  me.  Some- 
times I  was  one  and  sometimes  I  was  the  other,  and 
I  didn't  know  whether  I  cared  for  him  or  not.  The 
next  morning  it  had  all  calmed  down  rather,  and  I 
made  up  my  mind  I  wouldn't  care  whether  he  came 
back  or  not,  and  that  if  he  did  I  would  behave  just  as 
I  had  before,  and  pretend  that  nothing  had  happened. 
I  don't  know  whether  I  should  have  been  able  to  keep 
that  up  if  he  hadn't  come  to  lunch  next  day.  When 
Jarvis  brought  up  his  name  I  was  glad,  though  I  don't 
think  I  showed  it,  did  I?" 

Caroline  reminded  her  of  what  she  had  said,  and 
she  smiled  and  said  she  thought  she  had  hidden  it  very 
well,  and  by  the  way  he  behaved  she  thought  he  in- 
tended to  ignore  what  had  happened  too. 

"  I  was  a  little  frightened  when  you  went  indoors 


CAROLINE    AND    BEATRIX       169 

and  left  me  alone  with  him,"  she  said.  "  But  for  some 
time  he  went  on  talking  as  if  he  had  forgotten  every- 
thing, and  I  was  rather  grateful  to  him,  and  felt  that 
I  did  like  him  very  much.  He's  so  strong  and — and 
self-controlled;  and  I  admire  strong  men,  who  won't 
let  you  play  with  them.  I  had  had  enough  of  that.  I 
didn't  want  to  play  with  him  any  more,  and  I  wanted 
him  to  see  that  I  was  sorry,  without  having  to  say  so. 
So  I  suppose  I  was  extra  nice  to  him.  And  I  did 
want  him  at  least  as  a  friend. 

"  Then  suddenly  he  said  something.  That's  his 
way — when  you're  not  expecting  it.  He  said  perhaps 
he'd  made  a  mistake  about  me  yesterday,  but  he  didn't 
think  he'd  been  altogether  mistaken.  If  I  didn't  love 
him  very  much  now,  he  wanted  me  all  the  same,  and 
he  was  sure  he  could  make  me  happy.  Would  I  marry 
him  and  let  him  try? 

"  It  was  the  last  thing  I  expected.  I  didn't  know 
what  to  say  or  what  to  think.  Then  he  said  that  he 
shouldn't  worry  me  with  love-making  until  I  was 
ready  for  it.  He  said  in  his  quiet  deep  sort  of  way, 
*  When  you  are,  my  dear,  you'll  have  all  you  can  want,' 
and  he  made  me  feel,  somehow,  that  perhaps  I  should 
come  to  want  it — from  him,  I  mean." 

She  stopped  for  a  moment  as  if  she  were  examining 
herself.  "  I  can't  think  now  what  made  me  say,  yes," 
she  said.  "  I  didn't  feel  in  the  least  like  I  did  when  I 
— when  I  said  yes,  before.  I  think  if  he  had — had 
kissed  me,  or  treated  me  as  if  I  had  already  given  him 
everything,  I  should  have  drawn  back,  perhaps  run 


170  THE   GRAFTONS 

away  from  him.  But  he  just  took  both  my  hands, 
and  looked  me  straight  in  the  face  and  said :  '  Thank 
you;  I  promise  you  that  you  shall  never  be  sorry  for 
it.'  Oh,  he  is  good — and  strong.  I  think  I  do  love 
him.  If  37ou'd  seen  the  look  in  his  eyes !  It  touched 
me,  and  made  me  want  to  cry.  I  think  if  he  had  kissed 
me  then,  I  shouldn't  have  minded." 

"Hasn't  he  kissed  you  at  all?"  Caroline  asked. 
The  heaviness  of  heart  which  the  beginning  of  the  story 
had  brought  her  had  lightened.  It  would  not  have 
been  told  her  in  just  that  way  if  Beatrix  had  come  to 
her  to  ask  her  help  in  extricating  herself  from  an  im- 
possible position.  And  yet  she  had  been  inclined  to 
think  that  it  had  been  all  a  mistake,  and  had  better 
be  ended,  for  the  sake  of  Beatrix's  happiness. 

"  I'm  coming  to  that,  darling.  You  must  let  me 
tell  it  to  you  all  as  it  happened." 

Caroline  kissed  her  again.  As  her  heart  grew  lighter, 
the  channels  of  her  love  were  clearing. 

"  We  went  and  walked  in  the  garden,"  Beatrix  went 
on.  "  We  talked  about  what  we  would  do  when  we 
were  married — where  we  should  live,  and  all  that.  I 
felt  quite  pleased  and  excited.  It  was  something  going 
to  happen.  I  think  only  one  part  of  me  was  working. 
And  I  felt  as  if  I'd  come  to  anchor.  You  know,  dar- 
ling, I  haven't  enjoyed  myself  this  year,  as  I  did  last. 
That  had  spoilt  everything  for  me.  I  think  if  I  had 
lived  quietly  at  home,  as  you  have,  it  might  have  been 
different.  But  I'm  rather  tired  of  going  about,  and 
remembering  that  all  the  time.  I  don't  want  him  any 


CAROLINE    AND   BEATRIX       171 

longer — of  course.  I  hate  him.  But  what  I  thought 
he  was — having  somebody  all  my  own  who  would  love 
me,  and  I  would  do  all  I  could  to  make  him  happy — I 
suppose  if  you've  once  wanted  that  you  always  want 
it;  and  a  home  of  your  own,  and  children  of  your  own 
to  love." 

"  Yes,  I  know,  dearest,"  said  Caroline  softly.  She 
was  longing  to  come  to  the  point  at  which  Beatrix 
might  show  her  that  all  that,  which  lies  before  women 
made  of  their  clay  as  the  ultimate  end  of  their  lives, 
would  come  to  Beatrix  through  the  only  gate  which 
leads  to  its  perfect  fulfilment.  She  had  thought  at 
one  time  that  it  might  be  taken  by  a  deliberate  choice 
of  a  partner,  and  that  the  love  that  would  sweeten 
it  might  come  afterwards.  But  she  thought  differ- 
ently now.  Beatrix  herself  had  taught  her.  That  first 
love  of  hers,  broken  off  as  it  had  been,  had  been  the 
right  beginning ;  it  would  have  led  her  through  the  only 
gate.  Would  this  second  adventure  take  her  into  the 
right  path?  If  not,  she  might  get  much  in  life  that 
would  satisfy  her;  she  would  bend  herself  to  it,  and 
the  world  might  not  see  that  she  had  not  all.  But  it 
would  change  her.  She  would  not  grow  to  the  full 
stature  of  her  true  womanhood.  Secondary  things 
would  be  put  above  primary,  for  primary  things 
would  be  out  of  her  reach.  It  was  not  for  such  a 
one  as  Beatrix  to  make  a  merely  satisfactory  mar- 
riage. 

The   word   she  had  been   longing   for   came   sooner 
than  she  had  expected.     "  I  won't  go  over  it  all  any 


172  THE   GRAFTONS 

more,"  Beatrix  said.  "  You  saw  what  I  was  all  last 
night  and  all  to-day.  I  thought  I  should  be  able  to 
keep  it  up,  but  I  know  now  I  couldn't  have.  Some- 
times when  I  have  been  with  him  I  felt  like  crying, 
because  he  was  so  matter-of-fact  about  everything,  and 
I  knew  he  wasn't  really  feeling  like  that,  but  was 
longing  for  me  to  give  him  a  chance  of  being  different. 
But  I  remembered  what  I  had  done  before,  and  I 
wasn't  sure  that  I  really  wanted  him  to — to  make  love 
to  me. 

"  It  was  when  he  went  away  to-night.  You  know  I 
went  to  see  him  out.  I  think  if  he  had  gone  as  he  did 
last  night — just  as  if  we  weren't  engaged  at  all — I 
couldn't  have  gone  on  with  it,  I  was  feeling  so  miser- 
able. Perhaps  I  looked  at  him  in  a  way  that  showed 
him;  for  he  looked  at  me  as  he  was  saying  good-night. 
I  saw  by  his  eyes  how  much  he  loved  me,  and  he  kissed 
me  very  gently,  on  the  forehead,  and  called  me  some- 
thing sweet  which  I  won't  tell  you;  and  then  he  went 
away." 

"  Oh,  darling,  I'm  so  glad,"  said  Caroline.  "  I 
know  by  the  way  you  tell  me  that  it  was  what  you  really 
wanted  all  the  time,  wasn't  it  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  whether  I  did  want  it  all  the  time. 
I  know  I  should  have  been  miserable  if  he  had  gone 
away  without.  And  I  wished  when  Pd  gone  upstairs 
that  I'd  given  him  something  in  return,  some  sign 
just  to  show  that  I  didn't  want  him  to  go  back 
to  that  horrid  cold  talk  of  to-day  and  yesterday.  Do 
you  think  he  will?  He's  not  so  frightfully  strong,  after 


CAROLINE   AND   BEATRIX       173 

all.  I'm  sure  he  never  meant  to  show  me  what  he  did. 
He  couldn't  keep  it  under." 

Caroline  laughed  gently  at  her.  "  Yes,  he  is  strong," 
she  said,  "  with  the  right  sort  of  strength.  He 
wouldn't  have  shown  you  that,  if  you  hadn't  shown 
him  something  first.  Oh,  darling,  you  do  love  him, 
don't  you?  You  wouldn't  be  going  to  marry  him  if 
you  didn't." 

Beatrix  didn't  answer  at  once.  **  I  suppose  I'm 
frightened  to  let  myself  go,"  she  said.  "  I  did  before, 
and  it's  as  if  something  had  got  stopped  up  in  me. 
I  don't  feel  towards  him  as  I  did,  and  with  him,  though 
I  admire  and  trust  him  a  thousand  times  more.  Will 
it  come,  Cara,  dear?  Can  I  go  on,  without  doing  him 
harm?  He's  so  good  and  so  fine,  he  ought  to  have 
somebody  who  would  simply  worship  him,  and  think 
of  nobody  else ;  not  somebody  who  has  already  thought 
of  somebody  else,  somebody  not  to  be  compared  with 
him." 

Caroline  wouldn't  tell  her  that  she  thought  it  would 
all  come.  She  knew  it  would,  because  now  she  saw  that 
it  was  already  there,  though  it  was  struggling  for  life 
through  the  dead  waste  of  a  once  living  but  now  with- 
ered love.  "  It's  what  you  feel  now,  darling,  that 
matters,"  she  said.  "  I  think  something  has  been  go- 
ing on  in  you  all  the  time  that  you  can't  recognise, 
because  it's  different  from  what  it  was." 

"  Do  you  think  that's  it? "  she  asked  rather  pa- 
thetically. "  I  hope  it  is.  It  isn't  that  I  want  all  that 
to  come  back,  though  it  did  make  me  very  happy  while 


174  THE   GRAFTONS 

it  lasted.  But  I  don't  want  to  disappoint  him.  I 
don't  want  to  give  him  something,  just  because  I 
feel  like  it  for  the  moment,  and  then  take  it  away 
again." 

"  If  you  give  him  something  because  you  feel  like 
it — well,  that's  just  what  you'll  be  right  in  doing, 
darling.  It  wouldn't  be  right  to  hold  it  back.  If 
you  feel  like  it  at  any  time,  it  shows  it's  there,  I'm 
sure  he's  worth  loving,  B." 

"  Oh,  yes,  he  is.  I  think  I  do  love  him.  I  know  I 
want  him  to  come  back  to-morrow." 

Those  were  the  words  that  rang  in  Caroline's  ears 
when  Beatrix  had  left  her,  comforted,  and  assured 
of  her  forgiveness  for  the  horrid  way  in  which  she 
had  behaved  herself  towards  her.  Poor  little  B !  It 
would  all  have  been  so  different  if  this  had  been  the 
first  time  she  had  trodden  the  happy  path  of  love. 
She  was  all  softness  and  sweetness,  made  to  capitulate 
to  a  strong  man's  wooing.  But  she  had  been  bruised 
and  torn,  and  there  were  sensitive  places  in  her  which 
shrank  from  the  lightest  touch.  Her  lover  would  not 
get  the  full  response  from  her  until  he  had  taught  her 
not  to  fear  his  touch  on  them. 

But  she  wanted  him  to  come  back.  Her  heart  was 
fluttering  out  to  meet  him.  Its  wings  would  grow 
stronger. 

He  came  early  the  next  morning.  He  had  walked  the 
three  miles  from  Wilborough,  where  breakfast  was 
earlier  than  at  Abington,  because  any  other  mode  of 
progression  would  have  brought  him  there  before  it 


CAROLINE   AND   BEATRIX       175 

was  convenient,  and  yet  he  wanted  to  be  moving1. 
Beatrix  had  gone  down  the  ferny  glade  towards  the 
gate  in  the  wall  that  led  into  the  park,  not  expecting 
to  meet  him  so  soon,  but  because  she  also  felt  it  neces- 
sary to  be  in  motion,  and  that  was  the  way  he  would 
probably  come. 

She  was  close  upon  the  gate  when  he  opened  it  and 
came  through.  His  face  looked  as  if  it  had  been  sud- 
denly struck  with  a  bright  light  as  he  saw  her.  But 
he  hesitated  a  moment  before  he  spoke.  He  was  still 
putting  constraint  on  himself. 

She  saw  the  sudden  bright  look,  and  the  change, 
and  it  moved  her  profoundly.  She  was  rather  taken 
by  surprise  too,  for  she  had  not  expected  to  see  him, 
though  she  had  come  down  through  the  park  with  no 
other  purpose.  But  she  smiled  at  him  and  said: 
"  Here  I  am,  you  see,  waiting  for  you." 

Was  it  an  invitation?  He  couldn't  tell.  He  had  not 
been  prepared  for  it.  He  smiled  at  her  in  return. 
"  You  won't  often  have  to  wait  for  me,"  he  said.  "  If 
I  had  thought  you  would  be  out  so  early  I  would  have 
motored  over." 

Then  she  turned,  and  they  walked  slowly  back  to- 
wards the  house  together.  At  first  both  of  them 
were  at  a  loss  what  to  say. 

She  slipped  her  hand  into  his  arm.  It  came  natural 
to  her  to  do  so;  it  was  so  she  walked  with  her  father, 
and  she  no  longer  felt  afraid  of  Dick.  He  was  de- 
pendent on  her,  and  he  was  her  friend. 

He  flushed  under  his  brown  skin,  and  looked  down 


176  THE   GRAFTONS 

at  her.  She  was  not  wearing  her  hat  with  the  broad 
brim  to-day,  and  he  could  see  her  face.  Since  he  had 
gained  her  promise  he  had  seen  it  excited,  merry, 
pleased  sometimes,  sometimes  it  had  hurt  him  to  think 
a  little  frightened,  and  once,  as  it  had  thrilled  him 
all  through  the  night  to  remember,  appealing.  But 
he  had  not  seen  it  smooth  and  calm  as  it  was  now.  The 
attitude  of  both  of  them  seemed  to  be  reversed.  It  was 
she  who  was  sure  of  herself,  and  he  who  was  in  pertur- 
bation. 

"  We'll  have  a  long  day  together,"  she  said.  "  We'll 
do  whatever  you  like.  Would  you  like  to  fish?  If  so, 
I'll  be  your  gillie.  I  often  land  Dad's  fish  for  him, 
and  I  know  exactly  what  to  do." 

All  he  said  was,  "  Yes,  I  should  like  that,"  but  his 
voice  trembled,  and  his  happiness  was  almost  too  much 
for  him.  She  was  offering  him  that  sweet  confiding 
companionship  which  he  had  thought  he  would  only 
attain  to  through  long  and  troubled  effort,  when  by 
difficult  repression  of  his  strong  desires  he  should 
have  taught  her  that  she  might  safely  give  it  to  him. 
If  he  could  have  it  now,  offered  to  him  of  her  own  free- 
will, surely  the  rest  would  come!  But  he  could  wait; 
he  could  wait  for  a  long  time  if  he  might  have  this. 

To  all  outward  seeming  they  might  have  been  mar- 
ried for  months,  and  reached  that  happy  state  in 
which  perfect  community  of  taste  and  understanding 
doubles  the  pleasure  of  any  common  pursuit,  as  they 
followed  the  stream  and  tempted  the  trout  in  its  pools 
and  shallows.  Beatrix  was  as  eager  and  interested  as 


CAROLINE    AND    BEATRIX        177 

if  she  had  been  fishing  with  her  father,  and  as  merry 
and  talkative.  He  loved  her  so  like  that,  and  was  so 
happy  with  her  that  he  sometimes  forgot  how  much 
he  loved  her.  He  seemed  to  forget  it  altogether  when 
at  last  he  hooked  a  big  fish,  and  drew  it  towards  the 
bank,  and  she  was  not  clever  enough  in  manipulating 
her  landing  net.  He  ordered  her  about  as  if  she  had 
been  a  small  boy,  and  rather  a  stupid  one,  and  when 
the  fish  was  landed  and  was  lying  on  the  grass  with 
its  gills  opening  and  shutting,  she  burst  out  laughing. 
"If  that's  the  way  you're  going  to  treat  me!"  she 
exclaimed. 

She  looked  so  adorable,  her  face  flushed  and  her  eyes 
sparkling,  that  all  his  prudent  resolves  vanished.  He 
caught  her  and  kissed  her,  just  once,  and  let  her  go. 
"  That's  the  way  I'm  going  to  treat  you,"  he  said, 
"  and  you've  got  to  learn  to  put  up  with  it." 

She  was  taken  by  surprise.  She  looked  at  him,  and 
then  she  smiled.  "  I  think  I  shall  learn  in  time,"  she 
said. 


CHAPTER  XIII 
PARIS 

GRAFTON  went  over  to  Paris  to  fetch  Barbara,  and 
Caroline  and  Young  George  went  with  him.  It 
was  decided  almost  at  the  last  minute.  Young  George 
had  no  particular  opinion  of  foreign  parts,  and  was 
enjoying  every  moment  of  his  time  at  home.  But 
Jimmy,  who  came  over  on  Friday  to  pay  a  formal  call 
of  congratulation  to  Beatrix,  advised  him  not  to  be 
an  ass.  "  A  couple  of  days  in  Paris  clears  the  cob- 
webs off  a  man's  brain,"  he  said.  "  England's  the  best 
place  in  the  world,  of  course,  but  you're  apt  to  get 
provincial  if  you  don't  run  over  to  France  occasion- 
ally. You  see  things  from  a  different  point  of  view." 
So  Young  George  was  persuaded.  They  would  only 
be  away  from  Saturday  till  Monday,  and  on  the  whole 
it  would  be  rather  a  lark.  He  wanted  to  see  Barbara 
too.  There  were  lots  of  things  to  talk  to  her  about, 
and  he  had  never  before  come  home  for  his  holidays 
without  finding  her  there  to  meet  him.  He  had  missed 
her  during  the  first  few  days,  more  than  he  would  have 
thought  possible. 

They  arrived  in  Paris  in  the  afternoon  and  descended 
at  the  Meurice.  Leaving  Caroline  and  her  maid  there, 
Grafton  and  Young  George  went  off  in  a  taxi-auto  to 
collect  Barbara  from  her  *  family '  which,  though 

178 


PARIS  179 

somewhat  decayed  in  fortune,  still  inhabited  its  ances- 
tral hotel  in  the  Faubourg  Saint  Germain.  There  was 
a  Monsieur  le  Comte  and  a  Madame  la  Comtesse,  and 
a  daughter  of  about  Barbara's  age.  There  were  also 
half  a  dozen  young  English  girls  whom  Madame  la 
Comtesse  made  a  great  favour  of  receiving,  but  whose 
parents  contributed  the  bulk  of  the  income  necessary 
to  keep  up  the  ancient  dignity  of  the  name.  It  was 
the  genuine  French  family  life  which  these  English 
girls,  also  of  irreproachable  ancestry — that  was  a  sine 
qua  non,  or  announced  to  be — were  invited  to  share, 
and  which  Barbara  said  was  as  dull  as  ditchwater. 
They  had  their  professors,  and  were  taken  about  here 
and  there,  and  they  talked  French.  English  was  not 
permitted.  Not  a  word  was  allowed  to  be  spoken 
even  among  themselves,  except  as  a  special  concession 
going  to  and  from  church  on  Sundays.  As  none  of 
them  were  Catholics,  Madame  probably  thought  the 
greater  sin  might  on  these  occasions  include  the  lesser. 

Barbara  had  altered ;  not  in  her  affectionate  impetu- 
ousness,  for  she  almost  overwhelmed  her  father  and 
brother  with  the  warmth  of  her  embraces.  But  her 
hair,  if  not  yet  *  up  '  was  no  longer  *  down.'  She  had 
grown  taller  and  slimmer ;  she  wore  her  pretty  clothes 
as  if  she  took  an  interest  in  them;  and  her  speech  and 
manner  were  the  tiniest  little  bit  affected  by  her  three 
months'  absence  from  English  influences,  though  this 
she  indignantly  denied  when  Young  George  taxed  her 
with  putting  on  French  frills. 

"  But  as  for  French  frills,"  she  said,  "  there  will  be 


180  THEGRAFTONS 

something  to  be  said  about  that  later,  but  not  to  eithei 
of  you.  Why  didn't  my  darling  Caroline  come  to  fetch 
me?  Oh,  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  my  darling  old  Daddy, 
and  you  too,  my  adorable  Bunting.  I  wish  the  taxi 
was  closed;  I'd  hug  you  both  again.  I  haven't  had 
half  enough  yet." 

They  had  already  told  her  about  Beatrix's  engage- 
ment, and  she  had  expressed  herself  delighted.  Now 
she  wanted  to  hear  more,  and  there  was  not  much 
more  to  tell  her.  "  Oh,  well,  I'll  get  it  all  out  of 
Caroline,"  she  said.  "  How's  that  little  ass  Jimmy 
Beckley?" 

"  You'll  be  able  to  talk  French  to  him.  He's  jolty 
good  at  it,"  said  Young  George. 

"  I  don't  think,"  said  Barbara.  "  No  more  French 
till  I  come  back  here.  Oh,  how  lovely  it  is  to  be  going 
home !  Can't  we  start  to-morrow,  Dad  ?  " 

"What  do  you  think  we've  come  here  for?"  asked 
Graf  ton.  "  We  are  going  to  enjoy  ourselves." 

"  Oh,  yes.  I'd  forgotten  that  Paris  was  supposed 
to  be  a  gay  city.  I  think  it's  the  dullest  hole  in  the 
world.  Look,  there's  the  Odeon.  Oh,  what  a  thing  to 
call  itself  a  theatre!  We  get  taken  there,  you  know. 
We  saw  *  Esther '  last  week.  It  was  like  going  to 
church.  Are  we  going  to  see  something  amusing  to- 
night, Dad?  I  believe  there  are  amusing  theatres  to 
go  to  in  Paris." 

"  I  believe  there  are,"  said  Grafton.  "  Yes,  we'll  go 
somewhere." 

"  I  say,  you  know,  this  isn't  half  bad,"  said  Young 


PARIS  181 

George  as  they  sped  across  the  Tuileries  gardens,  with 
the  great  purple  mass  of  the  Louvre  on  one  side  of 
them  and  the  gay  flower  beds  on  the  other,  with  the 
long  vista  up  to  the  Arc  de  Triomphe.  "  I  like  it  bet- 
ter than  Hyde  Park."  Which  was  a  great  concession 
for  so  sturdy  an  Englishman. 

"  There's  a  concert  every  afternoon  in  a  sort  of 
open-air  theatre,"  said  Barbara.  "  We  go  there  some- 
times. Perhaps  I  shouldn't  mind  Paris  so  much  if  I 
weren't  in  a  family.  But  how  joyful  it  will  be  to  get 
back  to  England  again!  I'm  longing  for  bacon  for 
breakfast.  I  think  French  food  is  much  overrated." 

They  dined  early,  at  the  *  Ambassadeurs,'  and  Bar- 
bara said  that  the  food  was  better  than  she  was  ac- 
customed to.  They  were  a  merry,  talkative  quartette, 
and  people  looked  at  them  admiringly  and  talked  about 
them.  Those  young  English  girls,  with  their  fair  hair 
and  their  delicious  colouring — when  they  began  to  be 
beautiful  they  almost  exaggerated  it.  There  were  not 
a  few  who  would  have  liked  to  make  the  entente  cordiale 
that  evening  with  this  English  group. 

They  went  to  the  Opera  Comique  and  heard  *  Louise,' 
that  poignant  story  in  which  a  daughter's  love  brings 
a  father's  sorrow.  They  were  all  fond  of  music  and 
knew  something  about  it,  even  Young  George,  who 
had  asked  for  an  opera  rather  than  a  play.  He 
and  Barbara  chatted  gaily  between  the  acts,  but  Caro- 
line, whose  sensitive  fibre  responded  to  the  emotion  of 
those  she  loved,  divined  that  her  father  was  moved 
by  the  music,  and  the  unfolding  of  the  stoiy.  Before 


182  THE   GRAFTONS 

the  last  act,  in  which  Louise  finally  forsakes  the  father 
who  has  loved  her  and  whom  she  has  loved,  dying  in  his 
room,  Graf  ton  said :  "  I  think  I've  had  enough.  I'll 
stay  outside  and  smoke;  and  wait  for  you." 

He  and  Caroline  had  read  what  was  coming,  sitting 
in  a  corner  of  the  foyer.  "  Let's  all  go  home,"  she 
said.  "  I  expect  Barbara  and  Bunting  would  just  as 
soon.  They  have  lots  to  talk  about." 

Barbara  and  Bunting  made  no  objection,  and  as  it 
was  still  early  they  went  to  supper  at  Henry's  round 
the  corner.  Barbara  said  that  evidently  Madame  la 
Comtesse  didn't  know  what  cooking  was. 

When  Caroline  and  Barbara  were  alone  that  night, 
Barbara  said :  "  That  was  rather  a  beastly  play  for 
Dad  to  see.  I  suppose  that's  why  we  came  away  before 
the  end.  I  hope  B  isn't  behaving  towards  him  as  she 
did  last  time." 

Caroline  was  surprised.  She  had  not  credited  Bar- 
bara with  that  amount  of  intuition.  "  No,  he's  happy 
about  B,"  she  said.  "  And  he  likes  Dick  immensely." 

"  I  said  it  would  be  B  when  we  first  set  eyes  on  Dick, 
you  know,"  Barbara  said. 

Caroline  remembered  that  she  had,  and  laughed. 
"  You're  very  far-sighted,  darling,"  she  said. 

"  Well,  I  do  keep  my  eyes  open,"  said  Barbara.  "  I 
know  I'm  a  jeune  fille,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  but 
I'm  not  a  jeune  fool.  I  suppose  Louise  wasn't  married 
to  that  posturing  poopstick?  " 

Caroline  did  not  reply  to  this  question.  "  It  was 
rather  too  sad,"  she  said,  "  though  the  music  was 


PARIS  183 

lovely.  I  think  I  should  have  stuck  to  the  nice  old 
father  if  I'd  been  Louise." 

"  I'm  quite  sure  I  should,"  said  Barbara.  "  I  think 
the  whole  business  is  awful  tommy-rot." 

Caroline  imagined  her  to  be  commenting  upon  the 
emotions  and  attractions  of  love,  and  left  it  there. 

The  next  day  they  motored  out  to  Versailles,  lunched 
there,  and  saw  the  fountains  play,  and  the  crowds.  On 
their  way  back  they  had  tea  at  a  restaurant  in  the  Bois, 
and  saw  more  crowds.  In  the  evening  they  went  out  to 
the  Pare  Montsouris,  on  the  very  outskirts  of  Paris, 
and  dined  there  in  the  open. 

"  Food  and  people,"  said  Barbara.  "  Food  and 
people  all  the  time.  Now  I  know  what  Paris  really 
means." 

The  little  restaurant  on  the  edge  of  the  Pare  Mont- 
souris is  not  very  widely  known,  and  the  park  itself  is 
right  away  from  everywhere.  There  were  half  a  dozen 
tables  laid  on  the  verandah,  and  some  people  already 
dining  there.  But  they  were  not  of  the  highest 
fashion,  which  forsakes  Paris  in  the  month  of 
August. 

They  went  to  feed  the  ducks  by  the  lake,  while  their 
dinner  was  being  prepared.  As  they  came  back  a  man 
and  a  woman  came  out  on  to  the  verandah  with  the 
patron  in  deferential  attendance.  The  man  was  in 
evening  dress,  and  the  woman  beautifully  gowned.  It 
was  she  who  was  doing  the  talking,  in  the  most  voluble 
of  Parisian  French,  while  the  patron  was  shrugging 
his  shoulders  and  answering  her  with  a  sly,  quick 


184  THE   GRAFTONS 

manner,  apparently  annoying  to  her,  but  amusing  to 
her  companion. 

He  had  his  back  half  turned  towards  the  Graftons, 
but  as  they  approached  the  verandah  he  moved.  It 
was  Lassigny,  and  he  saw  them  as  plainly  as  they  all 
saw  him. 

"  We'll  go  across  the  bridge,"  said  Grafton.  "  I 
don't  suppose  dinner's  quite  ready  yet."  He  turned 
his  back  on  the  restaurant,  and  his  children  followed 
him. 

They  saw  by  his  face,  which  was  dark  and  angry, 
that  he  wanted  nothing  said  about  the  meeting.  When 
they  came  back  a  little  later,  their  dinner  was  ready, 
but  Lassigny  and  his  companion  were  not  there. 

The  incident  was  soon  forgotten  by  Barbara  and 
Young  George  as  they  all  made  merry  over  their  meal. 
But  Caroline  knew  that  her  father  had  been  deeply 
disturbed  by  it,  in  spite  of  his  successful  efforts  to 
amuse  them.  She  saw  once  or  twice  that  reminiscent 
frowning  look  come  over  his  face  which  she  had  only 
known  during  the  time  that  Beatrix  had  been  waiting 
for  Lassigny.  He  had  never  worn  it  before,  nor 
since  the  news  of  Lassigny's  marriage  in  America  had 
come  to  them  and  broken  it  all  off  short.  It  troubled 
her  to  see  it  again  now.  Surely  he  must  know  that 
it  was  all  over  with  Beatrix!  It  was  awkward  having 
met  Lassigny  like  that.  But  they  would  not  see  him 
again,  or,  if  they  did  in  London,  they  need  take  no 
notice  of  him.  Apparently  that  was  what  he  wished, 
as  well  as  her  father. 


PARIS  185 

The  dusk  came  on,  and  the  park  emptied  itself.  The 
lawns  and  the  water  seen  between  the  tree  trunks  were 
silvered  by  the  moon  to  mysterious  beauty.  "  It's  like 
a  scene  in  a  play,"  said  Barbara.  "  Do  let's  have  one 
more  little  walk  round,  Dad." 

She  and  Young  George  hurried  off  to  the  lake, 
while  Grafton  paid  the  bill,  and  Caroline  stayed  with 
him.  Then  they  followed  the  other  two. 

Caroline  slipped  her  hand  into  her  father's  arm. 
"  Darling,"  she  said,  "  don't  let  it  worry  you — meet- 
ing him.  It's  bound  to  have  happened  some  time  or 
other.  We've  got  it  over  now." 

"  I'm  glad  B  wasn't  here,"  was  all  he  said. 

"  So  am  I.  But  if  she  had  wanted  curing,  I  think 
that  would  have  cured  her.  Fancy  choosing  that  for 
his  wife,  after  knowing  B !" 

"  It  wasn't  his  wife,"  he  said  quickly. 

Caroline  was  silent,  blushing  to  the  roots  of  her 
hair  in  the  darkness.  Then  she  said :  "  I  think  I  should 
have  come  to  know  that — afterwards.  I  felt  there 
was  something.  Oh,  Dad,  supposing  it  had  been  B  he 
had  married,  and  that  had  happened !  " 

"  Yes,"  he  said.  "  And  your  Aunt  Katharine  and 
Mary  and  the  rest  of  them  were  all  at  me  for  trying 
to  stop  it.  And  B  almost  cut  herself  off  from  me, 
because — because  I  knew  what  would  happen  if  she 
did  marry  him." 

She  was  struck  with  compunction  because  she  also 
had  thought  him  not  altogether  reasonable  in  his  dis- 
like for  Lassigny,  whom  he  had  not  disliked,  but  had 


186  THE   GRAFTONS 

invited  to  his  house,  before  his  engagement  to  Beatrix. 
She  had  liked  him  herself,  and  had  known  him  longer 
than  Beatrix  had.  Now  she  had  a  horror  of  him.  All 
her  soul,  unsullied  by  the  thought  of  evil,  revolted 
against  what  had  been  forced  upon  it.  Her  father 
had  known  all  along  what  he  was.  It  had  not  pre- 
vented his  treating  him  as  a  friend,  or  permitting 
him  to  associate  with  his  daughters.  She  put  that  fact 
away  in  her  mind,  for  consideration  later.  But  he 
too  had  revolted,  when  it  had  come  to  giving  up  one 
of  his  daughters  to  him.  And  yet,  as  he  had  said, 
all  the  pressure  had  been  against  him,  and  if  Lassigny 
had  come  back  for  Beatrix  at  the  end  of  the  six 
months  in  which  it  had  been  agreed  he  was  not  to  see 
her,  he  would  have  given  her  up  to  him. 

What  were  men  like,  under  the  surface  they  pre- 
sented to  the  women  who  gave  them  their  friendship 
and  confidence — men  who  lived  in  the  world  of  Lassigny, 
yes,  and  of  Francis  Parry,  and  Dick,  and  most  of  those 
among  whom  she  had  made  her  friends?  She  felt 
shaken  by  this  glimpse  she  had  had  into  what  lay  be- 
neath all  the  commerce  of  life  as  she  had  known  it, 
the  life  of  pleasure,  innocent  enough  to  her  and  such 
as  her,  but  lived  on  a  crust  of  artificiality  through 
which  one's  foot  might  slip  at  any  time.  Beneath  it 
there  were  untold  depths  of  mire  in  which  one  might 
even  be  engulfed,  as  Beatrix  had  nearly  been  engulfed. 
Her  pleasure  in  those  days  in  Paris  was  spoiled.  She 
longed  for  the  sure  ground  of  her  quiet  country  life, 
in  which  one  lived  from  day  to  day  occupying  and 


PARIS  187 

interesting  one's  self  in  one's  duties  and  quiet  pleasures, 
with  the  beauties  and  changes  of  nature  to  freshen 
the  spirit,  and  all  around  the  lives  of  others  with 
which  one  could  mingle,  and  trust  them  not  to  contain 
shameful  secrets. 

So  she  thought  of  it,  not  yet  taught  by  age  and 
experience  that  evil  is  everywhere  where  men  and 
women  are  congregated  together,  and  may  rear  its 
head  in  a  country  village  as  well  as  in  a  foreign  city. 

As  she  and  Barbara  were  alone  together  that  night, 
Barbara  said  seriously :  "  I  can't  think  how  B  can 
ever  have  liked  Lassigny.  I  never  did.  Although  I 
didn't  know  anything  in  those  days,  I  felt  it  about 
him  all  the  same." 

Caroline  suddenly  saw  Barbara  with  new  eyes.  She 
and  Bunting  had  always  been  called  *  the  children,' 
and  treated  as  such ;  and  up  till  the  time  Barbara  had 
left  home,  only  three  months  before,  she.  had  been 
a  tomboy,  sexless  almost,  certainly  with  no  appeal 
that  would  bring  out  the  deeper  feminine  confidences. 
But  she  had  always  had  a  shrewd  eye  for  character, 
and  Caroline  remembered  that  she  had  avoided  Las- 
signy's  society  when  he  had  stayed  at  the  Abbey  with 
a  large  party  of  guests,  saying  that  there  were  other 
men  she  liked  better. 

But  now  she  was  a  woman,  with  a  woman's  sensibili- 
ties, though  her  childish  freedom  of  speech  and  some 
of  her  childish  ways  still  clung  to  her.  The  very  al- 
teration in  her  appearance,  slight  as  it  had  seemed  at 
first,  marked  a  stage  in  her  growth.  She  stood  by  the 


188  THE    GRAFTONS 

window,  fingering  a  chain  she  had  taken  off.  In  her 
pretty  evening  frock,  nearty  as  long  as  Caroline's 
own,  she  seemed  already  to  be  *  grown  up.'  Caroline 
saw  her  as  a  companion  to  her  such  as  Beatrix  had 
been,  one  whom  she  could  treat  as  an  equal  in  under- 
standing, if  not  in  experience,  and  not  as  a  much 
younger  sister  from  whom  many  things  must  be  kept. 

"  Of  course  I  know  what  sort  of  woman  that  was 
he  was  with,"  Barbara  went  on.  "  You  don't  live  in 
Paris  even  as  I  have  to,  without  knowing  the  differ- 
ence. I  hate  it  all;  and  I  hate  him.  Why  couldn't 
B  see?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Caroline  slowly.  "  But  I  didn't 
see  either." 

Barbara  looked  up  quickly,  and  a  soft  look  came  into 
her  face.  "  You're  so  sweet  and  good,  darling,"  she 
said.  "  You  know,  I  believe  that  I  see  more  in  some 
ways  than  you  and  B — I  don't  mean  horrid  things  like 
that,  but  all  sorts  of  things — about  people,  I  mean." 

"  I  think  you  have  more  brains  than  either  I  or  B," 
said  Caroline,  with  a  smile. 

"  I  don't  think  it's  brains  so  much.  I  don't  know 
what  it  is,  quite.  I  know  I'm  not  so  nice  as  you,  or  B 
either." 

They  had  begun  to  undress,  helping  one  another. 
Caroline  kissed  her.  "  You're  every  bit  as  nice,  dar- 
ling, and  much  cleverer." 

"  I'm  sharp,  and  amusing,"  she  said.  "  Perhaps 
I'm  rather  too  sharp.  I  shouldn't  like  people  to  be 
afraid  of  me  because  of  my  tongue.  I'd  much  rather 


PARIS  189 

be  like  you,  and  have  everybody  love  me.  Cara,  when 
B  gets  married,  you  and  I  will  be  a  lot  to  each  other, 
won't  we?  I  shall  be  quite  grown  up  by  the  time  I 
come  home  for  good ;  I'm  nearly  grown  up  now.  I 
suppose  I  shall  always  be  much  the  same  with  Bunt- 
ing, but  I  want  to  be  something  different  with  you." 

"  Darling,  it's  just  what  I've  been  thinking  about. 
I  shall  miss  B  awfully,  when  she  goes ;  but  I  shall 
have  you,  to  make  up.  And  I  think  it's  quite  true  that 
you  can  see  more  into  things  than  I  can — some  things. 
Dad  told  me  once  I  hadn't  got  a  masculine  brain." 

"  No,  you're  all  feeling.  But  it's  right  feeling.  I 
don't  believe  you  would  ever  have  fallen  in  love  with 
Lassigny,  though  you  didn't  dislike  him  as  I  did.  I'm 
never  quite  so  sure  about  B.  Of  course  I  love  her 
awfully,  and  she's  very  sweet,  and  good,  too.  But  I 
think  she  wants  somebody  to  look  after  her.  Do  you 
think  Dick  is  the  right  man  for  her?  " 

"Why,  don't  you?     It's  you  who  can  judge." 

"  Well,  then,  I  do,  on  the  whole.  I  think  he'll  want 
to  be  master,  absolutely.  He  has  that  sort  of  strength. 
He  wouldn't  do  for  me,  even  if  I  loved  him,  and  all 
that.  I  should  want  somebody  I  could  be  more  equal 
with.  But  I  think  it  will  suit  B — to  adapt  herself  to 
what  he  wants.  The  only  thing  I'm  not  quite  sure 
about  is  whether  he'll  give  her  exactly  the  sort  of  life 
she  wants.  He  has  his  job  and  he  is  keen  on  it;  and 
of  course  she  won't  take  an  enormous  interest  in  that, 
though  she'll  like  to  see  him  go  up  in  it.  Then  he  likes 
country  life,  and  she  doesn't  particularly.  She  likes 


190  THE   GRAFTONS 

going  about  much  more  than  you  do.  I  don't  quite 
see  B  settling  down  and  living  at  Wilborough  most  of 
her  life." 

Caroline  was  rather  struck  by  this  view.  "  You've 
thought  it  out,"  she  said. 

"  Yes,  I  like  thinking  things  out.  Of  course  I  may 
be  all  wrong  because  I  don't  take  all  this  love  business 
enough  into  account.  That  may  alter  everything." 

Caroline  laughed  outright.  "  You  think  it's  all 
tommy-rot,  don't  you?  "  she  asked. 

"  Well,  I  know  it  can't  be,  really,  because  it  seems 
to  take  the  most  sensible  people.  I  suppose  most  of 
them  get  married  because  of  it,  at  least  in  England. 
But  I  should  think — I  don't  know — that  the  happiest 
husbands  and  wives  are  those  that  like  the  same  sort 
of  thing,  not  those  that  are  most  in  love  with  each  other 
to  begin  with." 

"  I  used  to  think  that,"  said  Caroline.  "  I'm  not 
sure  that  I  do  now.  I  have  never  loved  anybody — in 
the  way  that  B  has,  I  mean — so  perhaps  I  don't  know 
more  than  you  do  about  it.  But  I  do  think  it  ought 
to  begin  with  that.  I  suppose  marriage  isn't  just  hav- 
ing a  companion  you  like.  If  it  were  I  shouldn't  want 
to  marry  at  all,  because  I  have  just  the  companionship 
I  want  at  home." 

"Francis  Parry  wanted  to  marry  you,  didn't  he?'* 

"  You're  very  sharp,  darling,"  said  Caroline  with 
a  smile.  "  I  didn't  know  you'd  noticed  anything." 

"  You  and  B  have  always  treated  me  rather  too 
much  like  a  baby.  I  haven't  minded  much,  or  perhaps 


PARIS  191 

you  wouldn't  have,  for  I  should  have  talked  to  you 
about  things  more.  But  it's  going  to  be  different  now. 
There  are  lots  of  things  I  shall  want  to  talk  to  you 
about.  I  like  Francis;  but  I'm  rather  glad  you 
didn't  marry  him,  all  the  same.  I  think  he'd  have 
made  exactly  the  right  husband  for  B,  though." 

Caroline  laughed.  "  That's  a  new  idea,"  she  said. 
"  Do  you  think  Dick  would  have  made  exactly  the 
right  husband  for  me  ?  " 

"  Well,  yes,  I  do,"  was  Barbara's  rather  surprising 
answer.  "  You'll  be  happier  settled  down,  when  you 
do  marry." 

"  You  don't  settle  down  much  as  a  sailor's  wife." 

"  No,  but  he'll  live  at  Wilborough  by  and  bye,  or 
his  wife  will.  That  would  suit  you.  It  would  be  like 
going  on  living  at  Abington.  But  Francis  would  live 
sometimes  in  London  and  sometimes  in  the  country, 
and  he  and  his  wife  would  go  about  a  lot.  That's 
just  what  would  suit  B." 

"  Well,  it  just  shows  that  love  has  most  to  do  with 
it,  after  ah1,"  said  Caroline.  "  I  like  Dick,  too,  but  I 
should  never  want  to  marry  him.  If  I  had  to  marry 
either  of  them,  I'd  much  rather  marry  Francis.  And 
I  believe  that  if  anything  were  to  happen  to  stop  B 
marrying  Dick,  she'd  feel  it  more  than  she  did  be- 
fore." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

A  WEDDING 

BEATRIX  was  married  early  in  September,  on  a  day 
of  golden  sunshine,  which  bathed  the  house,  the  church, 
the  garden,  and  the  park,  in  a  glow  of  calm,  soft 
beauty.  It  was  the  prettiest  country  wedding  that 
could  be  imagined,  and  one  of  the  gayest.  The  house, 
of  course,  was  full  from  attic  to  cellar.  Beatrix's 
relations  on  both  sides  converged  from  all  quarters  of 
the  United  Kingdom,  and  even  from  Continental  holi- 
day resorts,  and  there  was  room  for  a  few  intimate 
friends  of  the  family  as  well.  When  every  corner  of 
the  house  had  been  allocated,  and  still  more  people 
whose  claims  could  not  be  ignored  had  to  be  got  in 
somehow,  three  or  four  empty  bedrooms  at  the  Vicar- 
age were  commandeered,  and  furnished  ad  hoc.  This 
not  providing  enough  beds,  rooms  were  taken  at  the 
inn.  More  remaining,  to  be  arranged  for  almost  at 
the  last  minute,  Stone  Cottage,  which  had  remained 
empty  since  Mrs.  Walter  had  left  it,  was  furnished  as 
a  dormitory  for  sundry  bachelors.  On  the  night  be- 
fore the  wedding  between  thirty  and  forty  guests,  who 
were  staying  in  the  house  or  its  various  dependencies, 
dined  there,  besides  another  score  or  so  from  Wil- 
borough,  and  other  houses  round.  The  old  vaulted 
refectory  of  the  Abbey,  which  had  remained  empty  and 

192 


A   WEDDING  193 

unused  for  generations,  was  the  scene  of  this  lively 
banquet.  It  was  to  be  used  as  a  ball-room  the  next 
night.  "  We  shall  want  cheering  up  when  you  leave 
us,  darling,"  her  father  had  said  to  Beatrix.  "  Your 
old  Daddy  will  be  the  gayest  of  the  gay,  but  his  mer- 
riment will  be  hollow  and  his  laugh  a  mockery." 

Only  Caroline  knew  how  much  of  truth  there  was 
in  this  light  statement.  He  had  behaved  beautifully 
throughout  the  somewhat  feverish  preparations  that 
had  had  to  be  made  for  a  marriage  at  such  short  no- 
tice. Beatrix  had  rushed  to  and  from  London  in  a 
state  of  happy  excitement.  When  she  had  been  at 
home  she  had  devoted  herself  entirely  to  Dick  when 
he  had  been  there,  and  when  he  had  not  been  there  she 
had  either  talked  about  him  or  gone  away  to  brood  over 
him.  For  when  once  the  barriers  had  been  broken  down 
she  had  succumbed  completely.  Caroline  smiled  to 
herself  sometimes  as  she  thought  of  the  doubts  she 
had  felt  as  to  Beatrix  marrying  without  love,  or 
with  not  enough  love.  She  was  made  to  give  herself 
entirely  when  she  did  love,  and  she  now  loved  Dick 
with  an  intensity  and  completeness  that  raised  him 
to  the  seventh  heaven  of  bliss,  but  seemed  to  leave  little 
room  for  any  other  sort  of  love.  Caroline  smiled  also, 
but  rather  ruefully,  when  she  remembered  her  father's 
satisfaction  over  the  place  that  would  be  left  for  him 
in  this  new  adjustment  of  his  beloved  child's  affections. 
She  invited  confidences  from  him  on  the  subject,  but 
he  gave  her  none.  The  complaints  and  resentments  he 
had  expressed  over  the  affair  with  Lassigny  had  given 


194  THE    GRAFTONS 

place  to  a  (determination  to  keep  all  that  he  must 
have  been  feeling  about  this  new  affair  to  himself, 
except  the  incidental  satisfaction  to  be  gained  from  it. 
He  was  genial  and  companionable  to  Dick,  and  had 
his  reward  there  in  the  liking,  which  was  growing 
into  affection,  that  the  younger  man  had  towards  him. 
He  was  humourous  and  chaffing  with  Beatrix,  and 
made  no  appeals  to  her  for  the  solace  she  now  almost 
entirely  withheld  from  him.  Perhaps  he  had  his  re- 
ward there,  too,  for  she  must  have  enjoyed  the  con- 
viction that  she  was  greatly  pleasing  him,  although 
she  failed  to  signify  the  same  in  the  usual  manner. 
The  only  comment  he  permitted  himself  to  make  to 
Caroline  about  the  change  of  wind  was  when  he  said 
that  he  should  hate  losing  B,  but  rather  looked  forward 
to  settling  down  again  after  her  departure.  But  he 
immediately  added  that  it  was  a  great  thing  to  see 
the  dear  child  so  happy,  and  with  so  good  a  chance 
before  her  of  happiness  for  the  rest  of  her  life.  So 
even  Caroline,  his  confidant,  was  not  to  know  the 
sadness  with  which  he  was  wrestling  on  his  own  ac- 
count, and  the  new  adjustments  he  was  being  forced 
to  make,  when  he  had  thought  that  further  need  for 
adjustment  was  to  have  been  spared  him. 

Caroline,  indeed,  was  having  to  make  a  few  adjust- 
ments on  her  own  account.  The  distressed  and  un- 
certain Beatrix  who  had  come  sobbing  to  her  on  the 
night  after  her  engagement,  and  had  come  closer  to 
her  sister's  heart  than  ever  before,  was  distressed 
and  uncertain  no  longer,  and  had  no  need  of  her  now, 


A   WEDDING  195 

except  as  a  recipient  for  love's  raptures.  It  was 
*  Dick,  Dick,  Dick,'  all  the  time.  It  spoke  well 
for  Dick's  quality  that  Beatrix's  family  liked  him  as 
well  at  the  end  of  his  few  weeks'  engagement  as  they 
had  at  the  beginning.  It  was  he  who  kept  up  for  them 
the  sense  of  somebody  added  to  it  instead  of  somebody 
being  taken  away.  *  Head  over  ears '  as  he  was,  and 
showed  himself  to  be,  he  still  showed  them,  whenever 
Beatrix  allowed  him  the  opportunity,  that  his  recep- 
tion among  them  added  and  would  further  add  to  the 
satisfactions  of  his  life.  It  was  not  only  to  be  just 
him  and  Beatrix,  though  the  bliss  to  be  gained  from 
just  him  and  Beatrix  was  at  present  almost  beyond 
his  power  to  grasp.  It  seemed  also  to  be  beyond  Bea- 
trix's power  to  grasp  for  the  time  being.  She  had 
removed  herself  from  them  in  spirit,  already,  and  had 
told  Caroline  that  what  she  should  really  like,  for 
the  first  few  years  of  her  marriage,  would  be  for  Dick 
to  be  ordered  to  the  Pacific,  and  for  herself  to  inhabit 
an  island  to  which  he  could  pay  occasional  visits,  leav- 
ing her  to  think  about  him  all  alone  in  the  intervals. 
Graf  ton  had  a  moment  with  her  alone  just  before 
the  ceremony.  All  the  guests  were  in  the  church,  from 
which  the  drone  of  the  organ  came  across  to  them, 
standing  in  the  hall  until  the  clock  should  strike  the 
hour.  The  house  was  empty  and  strangely  quiet. 
They  would  have  to  walk  across  the  few  carpeted 
yards  that  lay  between  it  and  the  church  between 
packed  masses  of  neighbourly  and  intensely  sympa- 
thetic spectators;  but  they  were  waiting  just  inside 


196  THE   GRAFTONS 

the  doorway  where  they  could  neither  see  nor  be 
seen. 

"  Well,  I'm  going  to  give  you  up,  my  darling,"  he 
said.  "  I  shan't  have  you  alone  again  before  I  go. 
Give  me  one  more  kiss  all  to  myself." 

She  lifted  her  veil  carefully,  and  held  up  her  sweet, 
happy  face  for  his  kiss.  "Mind  my  hair,  Dad,"  she 
said. 

The  church  clock  struck.  "  Now  we'll  go  over,"  he 
said.  "You're  not  nervous,  are  you?" 

She  laughed.  "  Not  a  bit,"  she  said.  But  her 
hand  on  his  arm  trembled  a  little  as  they  got  into  the 
crowded  church,  and  walked  up  the  aisle  with  all  the 
faces  turned  or  half-turned  towards  them.  That  was 
all  the  emotion  she  showed,  or  had  shown.  It  was 
all  pure  untroubled  happiness  with  her. 

The  reception  was  held  in  the  drawing-room  and 
morning-room,  which  opened  into  one  another,  and 
both  of  them  into  the  formal  garden.  The  broad  path 
which  ran  along  this  side  of  the  house  had  been  paved 
with  stone  some  months  before,  and  the  whole  space 
available,  indoors  and  outdoors,  permitted  of  free 
circulation  among  the  guests. 

Lady  Mansergh,  resplendent  in  mauve  silk,  with  an 
enormous  picture  hat  surmounting  her  red-gold  hair, 
came  waddling  up  to  Grafton,  her  fat  good-natured 
face  wreathed  in  smiles.  "  Well,  it's  all  over  now," 
she  said,  "  and  if  you're  half  as  pleased  as  I  am,  Mr. 
Grafton,  you're  very  pleased  indeed.  What  a  sweet 
bride!  I've  never  seen  one  more  lovely.  If  I'd  done 


A   WEDDING  197 

what  I  wanted  to  I  should  have  broken  down  and  cried. 
I'm  not  Dick's  mother,  but  I  felt  like  it.  Oh,  it's  a 
perfect  marriage  and  I  wanted  it  from  the  very  be- 
ginning." 

"  And  yet  a  year  ago,  you  were  telling  me  that  I 
was  spoiling  the  child's  life  for  her  because  I  wouldn't 
let  her  marry  somebody  else,"  he  said  with  a  smile. 

"  Ah,  you  knew  better  than  me,  after  all,"  she  said, 
tapping  him  confidentially  on  the  arm.  "  But  you  are 
pleased  this  time,  aren't  you?  Dick  says  if  he  hadn't 
been  as  much  in  love  with  the  sweet  child  as  he  is, 
he'd  have  liked  to  marry  her  all  the  same,  because  of 
her  family.  Now  that's  what  I  call  a  real  compliment. 
You  are  a  nice  family,  you  know,  and  I'm  sure  I 
don't  know  how  we  did  without  you  all  here  so  long. 
You  are  pleased,  aren't  you,  Mr.  Graf  ton?" 

"  My  dear  lady,  I'm  absolutely  delighted,"  he  said. 
"  It's  just  the  sort  of  marriage  I  should  like  for  all 
my  girls ;  and  Dick  is  one  of  the  best  fellows  that  ever 
stepped." 

Old  Sir  Alexander  also  had  a  word  of  satisfaction 
to  express.  "  Always  wanted  a  daughter,"  he  said, 
"  but  never  expected  to  get  such  a  pretty  one.  Lucky 
fellow,  Dick!  Arranged  for  another  wedding  present 
for  them  this  morning,  Grafton.  Given  Dick  Manor 
Farm.  Want  'em  to  make  their  home  there,  and  have 
the  girl  near  us  when  she  can't  be  with  Dick.  Won't 
have  to  wait  long,  I  dare  say,  before  they  come  in  for 
the  lot;  but  it'll  be  a  few  years  yet  if  this  infernal 
lumbago  doesn't  take  me." 


198  THE    GRAFTONS 

"  Manor  Farm !  That's  the  old  house  right  the 
other  end  of  your  property,  isn't  it?" 

"  Yes,  it's  a  pity  it  isn't  this  end.  Then  we  could 
have  had  her  between  us.  Still,  it's  one  of  the  prettiest 
houses  I've  got,  and  I'm  going  to  put  it  back  to  what 
it  was  before  it  was  turned  into  a  farmhouse,  and 
make  it  all  nice  for  'em.  I've  told  the  child,  and  she's 
delighted.  She  knows  how  to  play  the  daughter, 
Grafton.  She'll  make  a  lot  of  difference  to  me  in  my 
old  age,  bless  her !  " 

Grafton  had  already  been  bombarded  with  congratu- 
lations from  his  own  and  his  wife's  relations,  but  they 
were  not  over  yet,  nor  would  be  until  the  guests  had  all 
departed.  Lady  Grafton,  who  had  remonstrated  with 
him  about  his  refusal  to  accept  Lassigny  as  the  desired 
husband  for  Beatrix,  had  admitted  handsomely  that 
this  was  a  far  more  satisfactory  marriage  for  her, 
but  was  never  tired  of  hearing  him  say  so.  She  came 
up  to  him  with  a  glass  of  champagne  in  one  hand  and 
a  piece  of  wedding  cake  in  the  other. 

"  Well,  my  dear  George,"  she  said.  "  Here's  the 
first  of  them  gone.  I  hope  you're  as  pleased  about  it 
as  you  ought  to  be.  You  won't  like  losing  the  child, 
but  you  couldn't  expect  to  keep  her  with  you  always, 
and  she's  married  just  the  right  sort  of  man." 

"  Wonderful  powers  of  observation  you  have,  Mary," 
he  said.  "  I  shouldn't  like  to  disappoint  you  in  any 
way,  and  I'm  glad  you're  pleased  with  me." 

"  Ah  now  you're  being  sarcastic,  but  I'm  sure  I 
don't  know  what  for.  I'll  behave  handsomely  to  you, 


199 

and  admit  that  you  turned  out  to  be  right  a  year  ago, 
and  all  the  rest  of  us  turned  out  to  be  wrong,  includ- 
ing B  herself,  apparently.  I've  never  seen  a  girl  more 
devoted  to  the  man  she's  going  to  marry.  Perfectly 
beautiful,  I  call  it.  She  hasn't  got  a  thought  for  any- 
body else.  She'll  make  him  a  splendid  wife,  and  I 
must  say  you  deserve  a  great  deal  of  credit  for  the 
way  in  which  you've  brought  up  all  your  girls.  They 
have  learnt  to  be  everything  to  you,  and  I  expect 
you've  wanted  a  good  deal  of  humouring,  as  all  men 
do,  though  it  doesn't  show  on  the  surface.  If  they 
have  been  able  to  manage  you  so  well,  they'll  know 
how  to  manage  their  husbands,  which  most  of  us  have 
to  learn  after  we're  married  to  them.  I'm  sure  the 
trouble  I  had  first  of  all  with  my  dear  old  James,  be- 
fore I  got  into  his  ways — " 

"  Or  he  got  into  yours,"  suggested  Grafton. 

She  allowed  herself  to  be  diverted.  "  Now,  George," 
she  said,  "  that's  a  thoroughly  man's  speech.  Is  James 
happy  or  is  he  not?  " 

"  The  Bank  Rate  is  very  satisfactory  at  present," 
said  Grafton.  "  I  think  both  James  and  I  are  as 
happy  as  we  can  expect  to  be." 

Lady  Handsworth  also  admitted  handsomely  that 
his  opposition  to  Lassigny  had  borne  good  fruit. 
"  This  is  a  more  satisfactory  marriage  than  that 
would  have  been,  even  if  M.  de  Lassigny  had  been  every- 
thing you  could  have  wished  him  to  be,"  she  said.  "  I 
am  glad  it  has  come  about  so  quickly,  and  so  natu- 
rally, George.  I  did  say  to  you,  I  remember,  that  her 


200  THE   GRAFTONS 

first  love  meant  so  much  to  a  girl  that  if  she  were 
disappointed  in  it  no  other  love  could  be  quite  the 
same  to  her.  But  you  seem  to  have  judged  more  rightly 
than  I  even  over  that,  which  is  more  of  a  woman's 
question  than  a  man's.  I  suppose  it  is  because  you 
have  always  had  such  sympathy  with  your  girls.  I 
confess  that  I  should  never  have  expected  to  come  to 
Beatrix's  wedding  within  a  few  months  and  find  her  so 
entirely  cured  of  that  other  affair.  She  was  very 
deeply  in  love,  I  know,  and  in  the  nicest  sweetest  sort 
of  way;  but  she  seems  still  more  deeply  in  love  now." 

"  Well,  you  see  she's  found  the  right  fellow,"  said 
Grafton.  "  He's  worth  what  she  gives  him.  The  other 
fellow  wasn't ;  but  I  don't  think  she'd  really  given  him 
everything;  she  only  thought  she  had." 

"You're  a  wise  man,  George.  Women  have  much 
more  to  give  to  those  they  love  than  they  have  any 
idea  of  themselves  at  first.  But  men  don't  usually 
know  that.  And  only  the  best  sort  of  men  bring  it  out. 
B  is  a  darling,  but  it  would  make  a  great  deal  of  dif- 
ference whom  she  married.  I  do  think  now  that  with 
Lassigny  she  would  just  have  developed  as  a  charming 
delightful  woman,  but  rather  of  the  butterfly  order — 
even  if  everything  had  gone  right  with  their  married 
life.  But  I  think  Dick  will  make  her.  She  will  show 
very  fine  qualities  by  and  bye.  He  will  bring  them 
out." 

"  I  hope  he  will,"  said  Grafton. 

The  Bishop,  who  had  performed  the  ceremony,  was 
standing  in  a  little  group  with  his  wife  and  Prescott 


AWEDDING  201 

and  Viola.  "  Well,  my  dear  friend,"  he  said,  "  you've 
provided  one  of  the  happiest  weddings  I've  ever  taken 
part  in,  and  I  think  I  may  say  one  of  the  very  sweetest 
and  prettiest  of  brides." 

"  What  I  like  about  all  your  girls,  Mr.  Grafton," 
said  the  Bishop's  wife,  "  is  that  there's  not  an  ounce 
of  nonsense  in  them  anywhere.  They  show  all  their 
feelings,  and  they  fortunately  never  have  any  feelings 
that  they  would  want  to  hide." 

"  That's  a  very  handsome  tribute,"  said  Grafton. 
"  But  I  think  it's  deserved." 

"  I've  never  seen  anybody  look  happier  than  the 
little  bride,"  she  went  on.  "  If  all  the  marriages  you 
have  solemnised,  my  dear,  bid  fair  to  turn  out  so 
satisfactorily  as  this  one — !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Bishop.  "  Marriage  is  a  blessed 
state  where  there's  complete  love  and  trust.  I  think 
one  could  say  that  neither  of  these  two  would  be  com- 
plete without  it." 

"  Or  without  one  another,"  said  Viola.  "  Gerry, 
dear,  I  thought  we  were  the  most  satisfactory  couple 
you  could  find  anywhere,  but  Dick  and  B  have  advan- 
tages over  us.  He  is  not  so  harum-scarum  as  you  are, 
and  she  is  much  prettier  and  nicer  than  I  am." 

"  Gentle  fisher-maiden,"  sang  Prescott.  "  But  she's 
a  sweet  thing,  and  deserves  all  the  happiness  she  can 
get.  I  think  she's  found  the  right  man  to  give  it  her 
too.  His  Lordship  and  I  did  a  very  good  thing  when 
we  spliced  them  up.  I'm  all  for  making  everybody 
happy." 


202  THE   GRAFTONS 

Jimmy  Beckley  had  a  word  or  two  of  wisdom  to  im.- 
part  on  the  subject  of  the  marriage.  He  would  have 
liked  to  impart  them  to  Beatrix  herself,  but  found  it 
impossible,  as  he  had  rather  feared,  toj  get  her  apart ; 
so  he  asked  Barbara  to  come  for  a;  stroll  with  him, 
and  she  consented,  having  a  fair  idea  of  what  the  in- 
vitation portended,  and  expecting  to  draw  amusement 
from  it. 

"  You  know,"  said  Jimmy,  when  they  were  out  of 
earshot  of  the  crowd,  "  a  wedding  of  this  sort  is  a  jolly 
moving  thing.  I  wouldn't  say  that  to  everybody,  be- 
cause the  general  idea  is  to  keep  grinning  all  the  time, 
and  advise  the  young  couple  to  keep  clear  of  squalls. 
But  I  believe  you  can  see  further  into  things  than 
most  people,  Barbara,  though  I  shouldn't  have  said 
it  of  you  a  year  ago." 

"  I'm  glad  you've  noticed  the  change  in  me,"  said 
Barbara,  with  suspicious  humility.  "  Of  course  I  was 
a  child  a  year  ago ;  now  I'm  a  woman,  and  better  com- 
pany for  people  of  intelligence." 

"  That's  quite  true,"  said  Jimmy.  "  I  can  talk  to 
you  now  about  things  I  should  never  have  thought  of 
mentioning  to  you  last  year.  I  can  tell  you,  Barbara, 
that  this  marriage  of  B's  has  made  me  see  a  good 
many  things  in  a  different  light.  When  you  see  a  girl 
like  that — bright  and  taking  and  pretty — pledging 
herself  to  a  man  for  life — and  doing  it  before  an  old 
Bishop  of  course  makes  it  all  the  more  jolly — it  makes 
you  think  that  a  lot  of  the  business  that's  talked  about 
love — well,  the  Johnnies  who  talk  about  it  don't  know 


A   WEDDING  203 

as  much  as  they  think.  That's  how  it  struck  me  in 
the  church  just  now,  'specially  when  the  old  bird 
spouted  that  bit  about  for  richer  and  poorer,  and  in 
sickness  and  in  health  and  all  that.  I  don't  know 
whether  you  felt  something  of  the  same.  I  expect  you 
did.  You've  got  a  heart;  I  know  that,  though  every- 
body might  not  twig  it." 

"  Thank  you,  Jimmy,"  said  Barbara.  "  Yes,  I  felt 
much  the  same  as  you  say  you  did.  It  made  me  think 
that  there  was  no  sense  in  wasting  yourself  over  a  lot 
of  idle  fancies.  Much  better  wait  till  exactly  the  right 
man  comes  along,  and  give  him  everything." 

"H'mt  Well!"  said  Jimmy,  evidently  somewhat 
at  a  loss.  "  But  you  haven't  had  much  time  for  idle 
fancies." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  Barbara.  "  I  wouldn't  tell 
it  to  everybody,  but  I  know  it's  safe  with  you.  You 
understand  these  things.  I —  No,  I  can't  after  all. 
Please  forget  what  I  said,  Jimmy.  There  is  nobody; 
nobody  at  all ;  and  if  there  were,  you're  the  last  person 
I  should  confess  it  to." 

"  My  dear  child,"  said  Jimmy,  "  you've  said  what 
you  have  said,  and  I'm  very  glad  you've  said  it  to  me. 
There's  nothing  to  be  ashamed  of.  I  suppose  what 
you  mean  is  that  you've  taken  a  fancy  to  some  fellow 
and  don't  like  to  acknowledge  it  because  you  think  it 
mayn't  be  returned." 

"  Oh,  I  know  it  isn't,"  said  Barbara. 

"  Well,  I  shouldn't  be  so  sure  of  that  if  I  were  you," 
said  Jimmy.  "  You're  young,  and  you  don't  know 


204  THE   GRAFTONS 

men.  You  see  them  taking  fancies  to  people,  but  per- 
haps after  all  there  isn't  much  in  it.  This  fellow  may 
be  thinking  a  great  deal  about  you  all  the  time;  per- 
haps not  liking  to  show  it  himself  because  you  haven't 
given  him  any  encouragement." 

"  Oh,  no.  I  know  he  can't  possibly  care  for  me  at 
all.  Besides,  it's  all  over  now.  I  was  rather  weak,  but 
I'm  not  any  more." 

"  If  this  chap  let  you  see  that  he  was  thinking  about 
you,  and  was  very  glad  to  know  that  you  were  thinking 
about  him  in  that  way,  I  suppose  it  wouldn't  be  over, 
would  it?  " 

"  I  think  so,  but  I  couldn't  be  certain  till  I  got  back." 

"  Got  back !  What  do  you  mean  ?  Got  back 
where?  " 

"  Why,  to  Paris.  You  see,  I've  had  six  weeks  to 
get  over  it." 

Jimmy  stopped  and  looked  at  her  sternly.  "  Do 
you  mean  to  say,  Barbara,  that  you've  fallen  in  love 
with  some  ass  of  a  fellow  in  Paris  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  he  wasn't  an  ass,  Jimmy.  He  was  a  splendid- 
looking  man.  He  was  one  of  the  Gardes  Municipales 
who  was  on  duty  at  the  Opera.  I  saw  him  three  times. 
Before  that  it  was  one  of  the  clergy  at  the  English 
Church.  Now  I've  begun  I  may  as  well  tell  you  every- 
thing. Before  that  there  was  a  driver  of  a  fiacre 
who  used  to  stand  in  the  Place  Saint  Sulpice,  but  he 
was  much  too  old — about  sixty-five,  I  should  think,  and 
that  didn't  last  long.  Before  that — oh,  but  I  can't  tell 
you  any  more.  I'm  glad  I've  made  a  clean  breast  of 


A   WEDDING  205 

it,  though.  You  understand  it  all,  I  know,  and  can 
make  allowances." 

"  I  can't  make  allowances  for  that  sort  of  rotten 
business,"  said  Jimmy  stiffly.  "  You're  the  last  girl  I 
should  have  thought  would  have  mucked  about  like 
that.  If  that's  the  way  you  behave  yourself  in  Paris, 
I  don't  think  you  ought  to  be  allowed  to  go  back 
there." 

"  I  don't  suppose  I  should  be  allowed,  if  Dad  knew. 
Of  course,  as  I  told  you,  it's  all  over  now;  but  I  don't 
know  what  will  happen  when  I  get  back  to  Paris.  I 
may  see  somebody  else,  and  not  be  able  to  help  myself. 
There's  rather  a  handsome  violin  teacher  who  comes 
to  teach  one  of  the  girls — but  I  mustn't  give  away 
other  people's  secrets,  and  she  has  left  now.  I  shall 
be  the  only  one  to  learn  the  violin  next  term." 

"  You  don't  play  the  violin." 

"  I  asked  Dad  if  I  might,  and  he  said  I  could." 

"  Barbara ! "  Jimmy  stopped  in  the  path  again, 
with  the  evident  intention  of  expressing  himself  with 
weight  and  fervour.  But  he  had  only  got  out  the 
sentence.  "  You  will  not  learn  the  violin  next  term," 
when  Young  George  arrived  on  the  scene. 

"What's  up?"  he  asked.  "You  look  as  if  you 
were  having  a  row." 

"  Jimmy  objects  to  my  learning  the  violin,"  said 
Barbara.  "  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  why." 

"  You  know  very  well  why,"  said  Jimmy.  "  Do 
you  wish  me  to  tell  George  the  reason  why  I  object?  " 

"  Yes,  if  you've  got  one." 


206  THE   GRAFTONS 

"  She  has  taken  a  fancy  to  the  violin  teacher,"  said 
Jimmy.  "  She  actually  acknowledges  it,  and  says — 

"Why  shouldn't  I  acknowledge  it?"  interrupted 
Barbara.  "  She's  a  very  clever  teacher,  and  took  the 
First  Prize  at  the  Conservatoire." 

"  You  can't  get  out  of  it  like  that,"  said  Jimmy 
hotly.  "  If  there's  a  woman  there's  a  man  too.  You 
said  so.  And  what  about  the  cab-driver,  and  the 
bobby,  and  the  curate?  It's  a  good  deal  too  serious  for 
me  to  keep  it  to  myself,  and  I  shall  tell  George  every- 
thing you  told  me." 

"  Yes,  you  tell  him  all  about  it,  dear,"  said  Bar- 
bara. "  I  can't  stay  any  longer.  I  must  go  to  B. 
Good-bye,  little  man." 

The  time  came  for  Beatrix  to  go  off.  A  great  crowd 
had  collected  in  the  hall,  through  which  she  made  her 
way  laughing,  and  round  the  carriage  that  was  to 
take  her  to  the  station.  Before  her  husband  handed 
her  into  it  she  threw  her  arm  round  her  father's  neck. 
"  Good-bye,  my  precious  old  Daddy,"  she  said.  "  I'll 
write  to  you  the  very  first  thing." 


CHAPTER  XV 

AN  ACCIDENT 

IT  was  a  wild  wet  day  in  late  October.  A  terrific  gale 
had  swept  over  the  country  the  night  before,  and  strewn 
the  coasts  of  England  with  wreckage.  It  had  done 
great  damage  at  Abington,  and  when  Caroline  looked 
out  of  her  bedroom  window  in  the  morning  she  saw 
evidence  of  it  in  great  trees  lying  prone  here  and  there 
in  the  park,  and  the  drift  of  leaves  and  branches  scat- 
tered everywhere.  The  wind  was  still  raging,  though 
it  had  abated  some  of  its  fury,  and  even  as  she  looked 
she  saw  a  high  elm  that  had  towered  above  the  beeches 
with  which  the  slopes  of  the  park  were  mostly  planted 
come  crashing  to  the  earth. 

After  breakfast  she  went  out  to  see  what  damage 
had  been  done.  The  wind  was  blowing  over  the  house 
to  the  front,  and  when  she  got  out  of  its  shelter  she 
was  seized  as  if  in  the  grip  of  something  tangible,  and 
held  for  a  moment  struggling.  She  laughed  and  went 
on,  enjoying  it,  but  had  to  hold  on  to  her  hat  to  pre- 
vent its  being  wrenched  off  her  head;  and  her  thick 
tweed  skirt  was  blown  all  about  her.  In  her  young 
strength  and  resiliency  she  seemed  as  much  at  home 
in  this  wild  weather  as  in  days  of  blue  sky  and  soft 
airs.  She  was  no  fair-weather  girl,  and  the  rain  which 
drove  against  her  fretted  her  as  little  as  the  wind. 

207 


208  THE    GRAFTONS 

As  she  made  her  way  across  the  park  she  saw  the 
figure  of  a  man  making  his  way  towards  the  spot  where 
the  most  havoc  had  been  done,  and  recognised  it  for 
that  of  Maurice  Bradby.  He  saw  her  and  came  to- 
wards her.  When  they  met  they  laughed  at  one  an- 
other. "Isn't  it  glorious?"  she  said.  "I  thought 
you'd  be  out  to  enjoy  it." 

Her  face  was  wet  with  the  rain.  Her  hair,  where 
it  showed  under  her  close-fitting  felt  hat,  was  pearled 
with  it.  She  had  never  looked  more  lovely,  to  him, 
than  then  as  she  smiled  up  to  him.  His  rugged,  rather 
unkempt  strength  also  showed  to  advantage  in  this 
battle  of  the  elements.  He  had  gained  the  country 
look,  which  is  not  affected  by  chances  of  weather,  but 
shows  a  spirit  attuneable  to  expressions  of  all  nature's 
moods. 

"  I've  come  out  to  see  what  damage  has  been  done," 
he  said;  and  they  went  on  together. 

In  the  shelter  of  the  trees  progression  was  easier,  but 
the  gale  still  roared  and  shrieked  above  them,  and 
twigs  and  small  branches  were  being  torn  off  and  fall- 
ing all  about.  Once  a  branch  of  considerable  size 
cracked  and  fell  within  a  few  yards  of  them,  and 
Bradby  looked'  anxiously  at  her,  and  suggested  that 
it  would  be  safer  in  the  open.  But  he  was  keen  on 
the  work  he  had  come  out  for,  and  she  was  interested 
in  it  too.  So  they  went  on. 

He  was  noting  the  trees  that  had  fallen  and  meas- 
uring them  with  his  eye  for  their  timber.  He  seemed 
to  her  to  be  doing  it  with  a  wonderful  sureness  and 


AN    ACCIDENT  209 

competence,  as  he  did  everything  in  connection  with 
his  work,  and  she  tested  herself  as  to  her  own  under- 
standing of  the  matter  in  hand,  and  received  congratu- 
lations from  him  on  her  eye  for  timber.  This  pleased 
her.  It  was  more  interesting,  doing  things,  than  just 
walking  and  talking,  and  to  do  them  with  him  was 
to  do  them  with  some  one  who  could  teach  her  a  lot  of 
what  she  liked  knowing  about.  And  she  liked  helping 
him,  too.  He  had  a  master  mind  in  all  that  had  to  do 
with  the  commodities  of  nature ;  she  had  long  since  come 
to  recognise  that.  In  all  outward  aspects  her  inferior, 
here  he  was  on  a  plane  which  put  her  at  his  feet,  and 
he  exercised  his  knowledge  with  a  quiet  assurance  that 
made  his  mastery  evident.  It  was  worth  while  to  work 
with  him;  and  to  gain  his  commendation  brought  a 
thrill. 

They  went  to  where  the  great  elm  had  fallen.  It  was 
the  tallest  of  a  group  of  three  standing  among  the 
beeches  on  the  highest  point  to  be  seen  from  the  Abbey. 
It  had  been  a  magnificent  tree,  but  had  passed  its  age 
of  healthy  growth,  and  the  amount  of  sound  timber  to 
be  reckoned  with  was  difficult  to  gauge.  They  inter- 
ested themselves  deeply  in  it,  while  the  gale,  which 
seemed  to  have  increased  in  violence  again,  raged  all 
about  them. 

They  were  standing  by  the  uprooted  bole,  wonder- 
ing at  the  exposed  roots,  which  seemed  to  have  so  little 
to  anchor  such  a  giant  to  the  earth,  when  suddenly 
Bradby  seized  Caroline  and  threw  her  violently  into 
the  hollow  from  which  the  tree  had  been  uprooted. 


210  THE    GRAFTONS 

She  fell  and  lay  in  a  puddle  of  water,  and  was  in- 
stantly overwhelmed  by  the  branches  and  twigs  of  a 
great  bough,  some  of  which  whipped  her  in  the  face, 
drawing  blood,  and  one  more  solid  hit  her  heavily 
on  the  arm  and  drove  it  into  her  side. 

When  she  had  recovered  a  little  from  the  fright 
and  shock  she  wriggled  herself  free  from  it.  If  it  had 
been  set  ever  so  little  more  at  an  angle  it  must  have 
crushed  her  body,  for  the  bough  that  had  been  torn 
from  one  of  the  elms  still  standing  was  of  great  size 
and  weight,  and  this  was  one  of  its  biggest  branches. 

She  raised  herself  with  difficulty  through  the  mass 
that  was  hemming  her  in,  and  called  to  Bradby.  But 
there  was  no  answer;  only  the  wind  and  the  driving 
rain. 

With  her  heart  in  her  mouth  she  clambered  out  of 
the  hollow  and  then  saw  him  lying  half  in  and  half 
out  of  it,  with  his  face  white  and  dead,  and  his  body 
underneath  the  heavy  branch  that  had  struck  her 
down. 

She  found  herself  struggling  with  all  her  might  to 
lift  the  weight  from  him,  and  then  came  suddenly  to 
herself  and  ran  as  fast  as  she  could  down  the  hill  to 
get  help.  Her  face  was  bruised  and  bleeding,  and  her 
arm  hung  by  her  side  useless,  though  she  knew  that 
it  was  not  broken.  She  was  hurt,  too,  where  it  had 
been  pressed  into  her  body,  and  every  breath  she  drew 
was  a  sharp  twinge.  But  she  ran  the  whole  way  to 
the  house,  and  managed  to  give  clear  and  quick  instruc- 
tions to  the  men  she  found  in  the  stables.  She  would 


AN   ACCIDENT  211 

have  gone  up  with  them,  but  Miss  Water-house,  who 
had  seen  her  running  across  the  park,  came  out  and 
insisted  upon  her  coming  in.  When  she  got  indoors 
she  collapsed,  for  she  was  rather  badly  hurt. 

Bradby  was  hurt  very  seriously.  He  had  seen  the 
bough  crack  and  begin  to  fall,  directly  towards  where 
they  were  standing.  Caroline  was  standing  with  her 
back  towards  it.  He  might  have  got  out  of  the  way 
himself,  but  there  would  have  been  no  time  to  warn  her, 
or  even  drag  her  out  of  danger.  To  throw  her  into 
the  hollow  was  the  only  chance,  and  the  bough  caught 
him  before  he  could  jump  in  after  her.  The  fallen 
trunk  fortunately  took  the  weight  of  the  great  bough, 
which  if  it  had  fallen  to  the  ground  must  have  killed 
them  both.  But  the  branch,  an  elbow  of  which  had 
crushed  Caroline,  had  struck  Bradby  down.  It  had 
broken  both  his  thighs,  and  he  had  ribs  broken  besides, 
and  internal  injury  which  made  his  life  hang  in  the 
balance  for  as  long  as  Caroline  took  to  recover  from 
her  lesser  hurt. 

He  was  said  to  be  just  out  of  danger  when  she  was 
well  enough  to  leave  her  room,  and  in  two  days,  when 
she  had  practically  recovered  and  could  go  out  again, 
he  was  said  to  be  going  to  get  quite  well,  though  he 
would  have  to  lie  up  for  many  weeks  yet. 

He  had  been  moved  down  to  the  Abbey,  and  was 
installed  there  with  a  couple  of  nurses,  one  of  whom 
was  able  to  leave  him  in  a  week.  When  Caroline  first 
saw  him  he  had  altered  so  as  to  give  her  a  shock  of 
dismay.  He  was  thin  and  gaunt  and  pale,  but  his 


212  THE   GRAFTONS 

great  dark  eyes  stood  out  of  his  face  in  such  a  way 
as  to  bring  out  its  essential  refinement.  The  imma- 
turity of  his  features  seemed  to  have  been  wiped  out; 
he  was  almost  handsome,  with  his  shock  of  dark  hair 
spread  over  his  pillow,  and  his  long,  pale,  thin  face 
with  the  fine  eyes. 

His  mother  was  with  him — a  gentle  sweet-faced 
woman,  with  the  same  beautiful  eyes,  but  no  other  re- 
semblance to  this  ugly  duckling  of  a  son.  He  must 
have  inherited  his  strength  and  ruggedness  from  his 
father,  of  whom  a  photograph  stood  on  his  mantel- 
piece. There  were  photographs  of  his  brothers  and 
sisters  too — good-looking  men  and  girls,  more  like 
their  mother  than  he  was.  His  father  had  come  when 
he  was  at  his  worst,  but  had  gone  back  to  his  parish, 
and  Caroline  had  not  seen  him. 

Caroline  knew  he  had  saved  her  life,  but  found  herself 
unable  to  say  so,  or  to  thank  him.  And  she  knew  that 
he  didn't  want  her  to.  They  said  very  little  at  her 
first  visit,  but  it  was  plain  what  healing  it  brought  him. 

She  told  Mrs.  Bradby  what  he  had  done.  "  It  was 
his  quickness  that  saved  me,"  she  said,  "  and  not 
thinking  about  himself.  Very  few  people  would  have 
been  able  to  think  of  what  to  do,  and  do  it,  in  that 
fraction  of  time.  The  instinct  must  have  been  to  get 
out  of  the  way." 

His  mother  must  have  known  his  secret.  An  instinct 
stronger  than  that  of  self-preservation  had  been  at 
work,  and  Caroline  owed  her  life  to  it,  and  he  his  in- 
juries. 


AN   ACCIDENT  213 

She  looked  rather  sadly  at  the  beautiful  girl  sitting 
with  her.  They  were  in  the  Long  Gallery,  in  which  all 
the  circumstances  of  this  kindly  hospitable  family  were 
expressed.  She  had  been  taken  in  just  as  if  she  be- 
longed to  all  the  wealth  and  ease,  and  the  wide  rela- 
tionships, herself,  and  her  son  was  being  treated 
as  if  he  were  of  it  too.  But  his  lot,  and  hers,  were 
cast  in  very  different  places  from  that  of  the  people 
who  inhabited  rooms  of  this  sort,  and  had  the  rela- 
tionships indicated  by  the  photographs  that  were  set 
about.  They  were  of  two  different  worlds — the  world 
of  work  and  the  world  of  wealth,  which  never  entirely 
coalesce,  though  contact  is  formed  here  and  there  be- 
tween them. 

She  looked  at  Caroline  and  saw  her  more  in  the  light 
of  the  state  of  life  to  which  she  belonged  than  in  that 
of  her  essential  character.  It  was  the  first  time  that 
they  had  met,  and  though  she  was  strongly  attracted 
to  her  she  had  not  yet  gauged  her  fine  true  spirit.  It 
was  natural  that  she  should  be  affected  by  her  outward 
appearance,  which  betokened  her  birth  and  her  station, 
and  seemed  to  put  her  altogether  out  of  reach  of  a 
young  man  who  had  enjoyed  none  of  the  advantages 
of  wealth,  and  had  none  of  the  elasticity  which  enables 
some  to  climb  up  from  rungs  of  the  social  ladder  a 
good  deal  lower  than  that  from  which  he  had  started. 

But  before  she  left  Abington,  which  she  did  two 
days  after  she  first  saw  Caroline,  she  came  to  look  at 
her  son  with  new  eyes,  and  it  was  Caroline  who  opened 
them  for  her. 


214  THE   GRAFTONS 

It  is  not  every  mother  who  loves  her  ugly  duckling 
better  than  the  handsome  ones.  Mrs.  Bradby  took 
more  pride  in  her  other  sons  than  in  Maurice,  who, 
until  he  had  made  his  new  start  at  Abington,  had  been 
looked  on  in  his  home  as  something  of  a  failure.  Even 
now,  though  his  new  start  had  seemed  to  promise  suc- 
cess, neither  his  father  nor  mother  had  taken  it  as 
anything  more  than  a  fortunate  finding  of  the  right 
path  for  him.  There  was  indeed  no  more  to  be  seen 
in  it  than  that.  Land  Agency  is  hardly  a  career  in 
itself.  At  the  best  he  would  live  the  life  that  suited  him, 
and  gain  in  time  a  situation  which  would  enable  him 
to  marry.  He  could  never  expect  more  than  a  modest 
income  and  a  modest  home.  He  would  bring  satisfac- 
tion to  his  parents  if  he  worked  up  to  that,  but 
not  pride,  as  their  other  sons  were  in  the  way  of  do- 
ing. 

But  this  beautiful,  sweet,  clever  girl  saw  a  great 
deal  beneath  the  not  very  attractive  exterior.  He 
might  do  nothing  in  the  world  that  would  be  counted 
as  success.  He  was  hardly  in  the  way  of  doing  any- 
thing, and  yet  she  spoke  of  what  he  was  doing  as  if 
it  went  much  deeper  than  the  work  in  which  he  was 
spending  his  days,  and  by  which  he  was  about  to  earn 
his  living.  He  was  in  his  right  place  in  the  world, 
and  in  tune  with  big  things.  This  was  more  than 
to  make  the  sort  of  success  that  his  brothers  might 
make  in  their  several  careers.  If  his  mother  did  not 
think  it  was  more,  she  at  least  saw  that  Maurice  was 
not  to  be  judged  by  the  standards  applied  to  them, 


AN   ACCIDENT  215 

and  her  heart  went  out  to  the  girl  who  had  found 
more  in  him  than  she  had. 

It  may  be  supposed  that  she  was  on  the  alert  for 
any  sign  that  Caroline  was  attracted  towards  her  son 
in  the  way  that  she  had  divined  he  was  towards  her. 
She  was  not  sure,  at  the  end  of  her  visit  that  she 
wasn't;  but  she  was  sure  that  if  she  was  she  didn't 
know  it  yet,  or  she  would  not  have  spoken  of  him  with 
that  unfettered  admiration  for  his  fine  qualities.  It 
was  natural  that  she  should  show  warmth  of  feeling 
towards  him,  when  he  was  lying  battered  and  broken 
by  having  saved  her  from  the  same  or  from  worse 
injury;  but  that  warmth  also  was  expressed  frankly 
and  without  reserve.  His  mother  thought,  rather 
sadly,  that  if  Caroline  had  thought  of  him  as  of  a 
young  man  with  whom  it  was  possible  to  fall  in  love, 
she  wouldn't  have  praised  him  so  freely.  She  was 
what  her  surroundings  had  made  her;  he  was  some- 
thing quite  different.  She  would  accept  the  difference 
as  putting  a  barrier  between  them,  and  from  behind 
that  barrier  she  could  give  him  her  liking  and  admira- 
tion and  understanding. 

So  it  seemed  to  Mrs.  Bradby,  as  she  drove  away 
from  the  Abbey,  with  gratitude  for  all  that  she  had 
received  there  warm  in  her  heart.  She  had  come  to 
see  in  Caroline,  as  Caroline  saw  in  Maurice,  some- 
thing deeper  than  what  was  shown  on  the  surface, 
something  deeper  even  than  the  kindness  and  goodness 
that  was  there  for  all  to  see.  If  Maurice  had  been 
older,  more  sure  of  himself,  it  seemed  to  her  in  her 


216  THE   GRAFTONS 

new  view  of  him  that  he  might  have  aspired  to  this 
girl,  in  spite  of  the  differences  between  them.  She 
would  not  think  that  they  would  matter;  she  was  too 
fine  to  base  herself  upon  the  accidents  of  her  up- 
bringing. She  would  take  a  man  for  what  he  was, 
not  for  his  outward  seeming.  But  Maurice  was  still 
immature;  he  would  not  himself  think  that  he  had 
enough  to  offer  a  girl  such  as  Caroline,  nor  be  able 
to  impress  her  to  step  out  of  the  conventions  that 
hemmed  her  round. 

It  was  just  as  well.  Nothing  but  trouble,  it  seemed 
to  her,  could  come  from  a  love  declared  and  returned. 
Maurice  had  done  so  well  that  he  was  to  be  paid  as 
Sub-Agent  to  the  Abington  property  from  the  be- 
ginning of  the  year.  Mr.  Grafton,  she  knew,  had 
arranged  that,  who  was  always  so  kind.  But  his  kind- 
ness could  hardly  be  expected  to  stand  the  test  of  giv- 
ing his  daughter  to  a  young  man  who  would  be  making 
barely  enough  money  to  keep  himself,  and  was  quite 
outside  the  circle  in  which  marriages  were  formed 
for  her  and  her  like.  It  was,  perhaps,  something  of  a 
comfort  to  be  convinced  that  Maurice,  whatever  he 
might  feel  towards  Caroline,  would  be  too  diffident 
to  bring  on  that  complication,  and  that  she  would  not 
lend  herself  to  it. 

But  she  had  reckoned  without  the  impulsions  of 
youth,  of  dependence  upon  one  side  and  of  gratitude 
and  pity  on  the  other. 

Maurice  had  been  moved  on  to  a  sofa  by  the  open 
window,  and  Caroline  was  sitting  by  his  side  talking 


AN   ACCIDENT  217 

to  him,  as  she  had  sat  and  talked  for  days  past.  By 
and  bye — she  never  afterwards  remembered  quite  how 
— her  hand  was  lying  in  his,  and  they  were  looking 
into  one  another's  eyes,  with  a  meaning  infinitely 
tender  and  trustful.  There  was  nobody  in  the  world 
but  their  two  selves,  and  they  both  knew  it,  without 
any  necessity  for  words.  Caroline's  time  had  come. 
She  had  not  known  it  until  that  moment,  but  she  knew 
it  now  without  the  shadow  of  a  doubt,  and  accepted  it 
with  complete  surrender. 


CHAPTER  XVI 
MAURICE 

GRAFTON  had  gone  up  to  London  on  Monday  morning, 
and  would  not  be  back  until  Friday  evening.  Caro- 
line wrote  to  him  on  Tuesday  morning.  Maurice  also 
wrote  to  him.  There  was  no  reply  to  either  of  the 
letters.  Caroline  had  told  him  that  she  should  tell  no 
one  else  until  she  heard  from  him,  or  saw  him. 

She  motored  to  the  station  to  meet  him.  Her  heart 
was  heavy,  but  beneath  her  dread  of  what  was  coming 
was  a  deep  calm  and  assurance.  There  were  to  have 
been  guests  at  the  Abbey  over  the  week-end,  but  a 
telegram  had  been  received  to  say  that  they  had  been 
put  off.  That  was  all  that  she  had  heard  from  her 
father,  though  when  he  had  been  away  for  the  whole 
working  week  he  had  always  written  to  her  at  least  once. 

He  gave  her  his  usual  greeting  when  he  got  out 
of  the  train — "Well,  my  darling!"  and  kissed  her. 
The  kiss  was,  if  anything,  warmer  than  usual,  and 
she  felt  an  immense  lift  of  love  and  gratitude  towards 
him.  If  he  had  brought  himself  to  accept  it!  She 
had  hardly  dared  to  hope  for  that. 

He  had  brought  some  cases  down,  and  she  stood 
with  her  arm  in  his  while  he  gave  instructions  about 
them.  Then  they  got  into  the  car  and  drove  off. 

"  I  didn't  write,  darling,"  he  said  immediately,  "  be- 

218 


MAURICE  219 

cause  it  wanted  a  lot  of  thinking  about,  and  some 
getting  used  to.  It  was  quite  a  surprise  to  me.  You 
say  it  was  to  you,  too.  Are  you  quite  sure  about 
it?" 

"  Yes,  Dad,  quite  sure,"  she  said  softly,  her  arm  still 
in  his. 

"  Well,  I  knew  you  must  be.  I  came  to  see  that. 
Whatever  I  thought  about  it  myself,  it  was  for  you 
to  decide,  and  you  weren't  likely  to  have  made  a  mis- 
take, or  to  have  gone  into  it  lightly.  I  trust  you 
absolutely,  darling.  I  trust  you  in  some  things  more 
than  I  do  myself.  If  it's  what  you  want,  you  must 
be  right  to  want  it.  You'll  have  no  trouble  with  me." 

She  broke  down  and  cried  on  his  shoulder.  The 
strain  on  her  had  been  greater  than  she  had  known, 
and  its  entire  removal  unbalanced  her  for  the  moment. 
Her  tears  did  not  last  long.  "  You've  made  me  so 
happy,"  she  said.  "  I  don't  know  why  I'm  crying. 
I  ought  to  be  laughing." 

"  Dearest  child !  "  he  said  tenderly.  "  You've  been 
fearing  that  I  should  make  a  fuss,  eh?  Well,  there's 
going  to  be  a  bit  of  a  fuss,  you  know,  Aunt  Katharine 
and  Aunt  Mary,  and  all  the  rest  of  them.  They  won't 
understand  it  all." 

"  Do  you  understand  it  all,  Dad?  "  she  asked.  "  Is 
that  why  you're  so  sweet  about  it  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  I  don't  understand  it  all,"  he  said, 
"  though  I've  taken  a  lot  of  trouble  about  it.  You 
won't  expect  me  to  shirk  the  difficulties.  You'll  have 
to  answer  up,  won't  you?  They  won't  like  it,  and 


220  THE    GRAFTONS 

they'll  say  so.  It  will  be  for  your  sake  they'll  make 
objections,  and  think  they  are  right  in  doing  it.  You'll 
have  to  remember  that.  But  they're  not — either  of 
them — what  you  might  call  worldly,  at  heart.  If 
you're  right  you'll  be  able  to  make  them  see  it." 

"  I  shan't  mind  anything  if  you're  on  my  side,  dar- 
ling Dad.  I  hoped  you  would  be  when  I  had  seen  you, 
but  I  didn't  think  you'd  bring  me  such  comfort  as 
you  have,  just  at  first.  It  makes  me  love  you  more 
than  ever,  because  you  understand  the  best  things  in 
me." 

There  was  a  pause  before  he  said :  "  Tell  me  about 
it,  darling.  We  needn't  talk  about  what  the  world 
will  see,  and  criticise.  You  must  have  faced  that. 
And—" 

*'  Perhaps  it  would  be  better,"  she  said,  "  if  I  tell 
you  how  I  have  faced  it,  so  as  to  get  it  out  of  the  way, 
between  you  and  me,  Dad.  We  have  talked  about  mar- 
riage together,  and  I  know  what  your  views  are.  Mine 
were  much  the  same,  before  I  knew  I  loved  Maurice. 
I  suppose  that  was  why  I  didn't  know  that  I  did  love 
him.  Until  it  came  to  me,  I  shouldn't  have  thought 
of  marrying  anybody  that  Aunt  Katharine  and  Aunt 
Mary  wouldn't  think  it  suitable  that  I  should  marry — 
somebody  with  an  established  position,  who  had  lived 
in  the  world  that  they  belong  to.  I  think  even  if  I 
had  found  myself  to  have  fallen  in  love — " 

She  hesitated.  "Ah,  that's  the  important  thing," 
he  said,  and  she  knew  that  he  understood  her,  and  went 
on,  with  a  pressure  on  the  arm  she  was  holding.  "  Yes, 


MAURICE  221 

even  if  I  had  fallen  in  love — unless  there  was  something 
deeper — I  shouldn't  have  thought  it  right,  and  should 
have  tried  to  get  over  it." 

He  kissed  her,  and  laughed.  "  I  think  I'm  rather  a 
clever  fellow,"  he  said.  "  I've  had  to  work  it  out  all 
by  myself,  and  I've  worked  it  out  right.  You  see,  I 
know  you,  my  Cara.  I  don't  know  him  yet,  though. 
So  it  wasn't  easy." 

She  pressed  closer  to  him.  "  It's  lovely  to  feel  one 
is  so  much  trusted,"  she  said.  "  But  you  were  right 
to  trust  me,  darling.  No,  I  know  it  couldn't  have  been 
easy.  I've  had  to  do  some  thinking  myself,  so  as  to 
see  how  you'd  take  it.  I  knew  you'd  be  dear  and  kind, 
but  I  couldn't  expect  you  to  see  Maurice  as  I  see  him, 
now  that  I  love  him.  He  thinks,  you  know,  that  I'm 
much  above  him.  I'm  not,  in  anything  that  matters. 
But  in  all  the  things  that  the  world  looks  at — .  That's 
what  we're  up  against,  isn't  it,  Dad?" 

"  We'll  be  up  against  it  together,  darling,  and  if 
I'm  with  you  the  others  won't  matter  much.  But  it's 
true,  you  know,  that  I  don't  see  him  as  you  do,  yet. 
You've  got  to  help  me." 

"  I  know.  Well,  darling,  you've  seen  I  have  changed 
since  we  came  to  live  here.  When  we  had  that  ride, 
to  breakfast  with  Mollie,  we  talked  about  it.  You 
thought  I  was  cutting  myself  off  from  something  that 
was  worth  having.  I  wasn't  quite  sure  that  I  wasn't, 
and  I  enquired  into  myself  afterwards." 

"What  did  you  discover?  It's  very  important. 
You  will  cut  yourself  off." 


222  THE   GRAFTONS 

"  I  discovered  that  I  really  didn't  want  any  of  it ; 
not  to  make  it  matter.  My  happiness  is  in  the  quietest 
things  I  do,  not  in  the  other  things.  Even  our  big 
beautiful  house,  and  the  garden,  and  the  way  we  live 
— that  counted  for  a  lot  when  we  first  came  to  live  in 
the  country.  But  it's  not  what  counts  most  now.  It's 
the  country  itself — nature,  I  suppose.  I'm  at  home 
with  it.  There's  something  in  me  that  responds.  Well, 
Maurice  is  like  that  too;  even  more  than  I  am,  be- 
cause his  life  has  been  simpler  than  mine.  He  is 
really  big,  Dad;  big  and  simple  and  direct.  There's 
been  nothing  to  complicate  his  purpose.  I've  felt  it 
about  him  all  along.  Now  I  love  him,  I  know  what  it 
is  that  has  brought  me  to  him.  I  can  look  up  to  him, 
and  I  do." 

They  went  up  together  to  Maurice's  room.  He  was 
on  the  sofa,  propped  up  now  against  cushions,  and  soon 
to  be  ready  to  be  wheeled  about. 

"  Well,  my  boy ! "  said  Grafton,  as  he  shook  hands 
with  him. 

"  Dad  is  on  our  side,  Maurice,"  said  Caroline. 

A  look  of  intense  happiness  came  into  his  face, 
and  tears  sprang  to  his  eyes ;  for  he  was  still  weak, 
and  the  relief  brought  to  him  was  overpowering. 

Grafton  sat  down  by  the  sofa.  "  She  has  told  me 
all  about  it,"  he  said.  "  If  it's  what  she  wants,  it's 
what  I  want  for  her." 

As  he  spoke  he  searched  the  young  man's  face,  to 
see,  if  he  could,  what  there  was  in  him  that  he  hadn't 
seen  already,  but  she  had  seen  to  such  surprising 


MAURICE  223 

effect.  He  caught  a  glimpse  of  it.  It  was  a  strong 
face.  The  diffidence  that  had  been  perhaps  the  chief 
note  of  this  young  man's  behaviour  towards  them  all 
had  been  based  upon  his  youth  and  inexperience.  They 
had  represented  to  him  a  side  of  life  in  which  he  had 
not  been,  and  probably  never  would  be,  at  home.  But 
it  was  the  conventional  side  of  life.  In  the  big,  basic 
things  he  would  not  show  diffidence.  And  he  would 
grow  into  his  man's  good  strength. 

He  had  grown  already.  He  looked  the  older  man 
straight  in  the  face  as  he  said :  "  I've  done  nothing 
to  deserve  her  yet.  But  if  you'll  give  her  to  me  I 
will." 

Worthing  came  to  dine  that  evening.  Grafton  was 
to  tell  him  about  it  when  they  were  alone  together 
after  dinner.  Miss  Waterhouse,  only,  had  been  told 
so  far.  She  had  shown  no  surprise,  but  had  said  very 
little.  Grafton  was  not  sure  whether  she  approved 
or  not,  but  knew  that  she  would  express  herself  to  him 
by  and  bye,  in  her  quiet  way  that  was  full  of  wisdom. 

Worthing  had  been  up  to  see  Maurice  before  dinner. 
He  was  rather  quieter  than  usual  until  he  and  his  host 
were  left  alone  together.  When  Caroline  and  Miss 
Waterhouse  had  gone  out  of  the  room,  he  said  at  once : 
"  Grafton,  I've  got  to  get  something  off  my  chest,  and 
I  may  as  well  do  it  at  once.  I  think  the  sooner  young 
Bradby  is  moved  out  of  here  the  better." 

Grafton  laughed,  rather  ruefully.  "  You  should 
have  said  that  a  fortnight  ago,"  he  said.  "  It's  too 
late  now,  James." 


224  THE    GRAFTONS 

Worthing  stared  at  him  open-mouthed.  "  You  don't 
mean  to  say — !  " 

"  They've  fallen  in  love  with  one  another.  She's  as 
deep  in  it  as  he  is." 

Worthing  struggled  with  his  consternation.  "  But 
— but — but — "  was  all  he  could  say,  and  each 
'  but '  marked  a  question  to  which  he  wanted  an  an- 
swer. 

"  What  do  you  see  in  the  boy,  James  ?  "  asked  Graf- 
ton.  "  He's  been  living  with  you  for  over  a  year  now. 
You  must  know  him  as  well  as  anybody." 

Worthing  found  his  voice.  "  What  do  I  see  in  him  ?  " 
he  said.  "  I  don't  see  a  husband  for  Caroline  in  him. 
I  call  it  an  infernal  piece  of  impudence.  Surely  you're 
not  going  to  allow  it !  Why,  he's  hardly  begun  his 
work  yet.  He  couldn't  expect  to  marry  anybody,  for 
years  to  come.  And  a  girl  like  Caroline !  Good  Lord ! 
What's  the  world  coming  to  ?  " 

He  seemed  greatly  disturbed.  "  I  feel  as  if  I  was  to 
blame,  in  bringing  him  here,"  he  said.  "  But  I  never 
thought—" 

"  Well,  it's  natural  that  you  should  take  that  view, 
at  first.  I  took  it  myself  when  I  first  had  their  letters. 
It  was  about  the  biggest  startler  I've  ever  had.  But 
you  know  Caroline,  James.  She  loves  him.  If  you  can 
find  the  answer  to  the  riddle  why  she  loves  him,  for 
yourself — ! " 

"  That's  not  very  difficult.  He  saved  her  life,  and 
nearly  lost  his  own  in  doing  it.  She's  been  looking 
after  him.  Women  are  like  that,  and  young  girls 


MAURICE  225 

especially.  You  don't  have  to  know  much  about  them 
to  see  that ;  there  are  thousands  of  instances." 

"  That's  what  it  will  look  like  to  everybody,  I  know. 
But  it  wouldn't  be  enough  for  Caroline." 

"  Caroline's  one  of  the  best  girls  that  ever  stepped. 
All  your  girls  are;  they're  quite  out  of  the  common. 
But  human  nature  works  in  them  just  the  same  as  in 
anybody  else.  Why,  you've  seen  it  yourself,  in  Beatrix. 
She  fell  in  love  with  a  wrong  'un.  You  stopped  that; 
and  now  she's  got  the  right  man.  Supposing  she'd 
married  the  first  fellow  she  fell  in  love  with ! " 

"  You  say  I  stopped  it.  I've  asked  myself  how 
much  I  had  to  do  with  stopping  it.  I  got  it  put  off. 
If  he  hadn't—" 

"  Well,  then,  you  ought  to  get  this  put  off — at  least. 
Bradby  is  a  good  enough  fellow  in  his  own  class,  but 
his  class  isn't  Caroline's.  That's  plain  enough!  I 
can't  understand  your  thinking  about  it  all.  There 
isn't  a  soul  in  the  world  who  wouldn't  think  you  were 
justified  in  stopping  it — taking  her  away,  or  some- 
thing; or  telling  me  to  clear  him  out.  I'd  do  it  like  a 
shot." 

"  It  wouldn't  make  any  difference.  I've  come  to  see 
that.  I  love  my  little  B,  but  she  isn't  Caroline.  She 
might  have  fallen  in  love — she  actually  did — with  a 
man  who  wasn't  fit  for  her  to  marry.  Caroline  never 
would." 

"Beatrix  would  never  have  fallen  in  love  with 
Bradby." 

"  I  know  she  wouldn't.     She  wouldn't  have  seen  be- 


226  THE    GRAFTONS 

low  the  surface.  Caroline  does,  and  she  finds  some- 
thing there  that  I  confess  I  haven't  been  able  to  see 
hitherto.  That's  why  I  asked  you  at  the  beginning 
what  you  saw  in  him.  Get  rid  of  all  the  side  issues. 
He's  young ;  he  isn't  in  a  position  to  marry ;  he  doesn't 
belong  to  our  sort  of  people.  What  is  he  beneath 
all  that?  Or,  if  you  like,  what  is  he  going  to  grow 
into?" 

"  He's  Al  at  his  work.  I've  never  denied  that.  He'll 
get  a  good  job  by  and  bye,  and  be  worth  it ;  but  not  for 
a  good  many  years  yet." 

"  That  is  one  of  the  side  issues.  Caroline  wouldn't 
love  him  because  he  was  likely  to  get  a  good  job.  What 
is  he  in  himself?  Come  now,  James,  you're  a  man  of 
some  perception,  and  he  has  lived  with  you  for  over 
a  year." 

"  What  is  he  in  himself?  "  Worthing  frowned,  with 
the  effort  to  direct  his  thoughts  into  the  channels  re- 
quired of  them.  "  You  want  me  to  give  you  excuses  for 
accepting  him,"  he  said. 

"  Not  excuses ;  reasons.  I'll  tell  you  how  Caroline 
sees  him.  Her  words  struck  me.  She  said  he  was  big 
and  simple  and  direct." 

This  was  rather  beyond  Worthing.  "  He's  a  good 
fellow,"  he  said.  "  He's  not  always  thinking  about 
himself;  a  nice  fellow  to  live  with.  Whatever  he  does 
he  does  as  well  as  he  can  do  it.  Is  that  what  she  means 
by  being  direct?  He's  simple  enough,  if  that's  a  good 
quality.  I'm  not  sure  that  it  is.  Fellows  of  our  age 
can  say  we've  hit  upon  the  right  sort  of  life  and  don't 


MAURICE  227 

want  anything  beyond  it,  but  I  think  a  young  fellow 
ought  to  have  some  ambition.  I've  never  seen  any  in 
him.  I  doubt  if  he'd  ever  move  to  get  himself  on ;  he'd 
just  do  his  work  wherever  he  was.  I  don't  know  what 
she  means  by  his  being  big.  He's  in  his  right  place 
on  the  land." 

"  That's  what  she  does  mean,  I  think.  He's  so  much 
in  his  right  place,  where  most  people  aren't  quite. 
And  the  land  is  big.  He's  in  tune  with  it.  I  think 
that's  how  she  expressed  it.  It's  a  bit  beyond  anything 
I  could  have  got  hold  of  myself,  but  it  isn't  beyond  me 
to  take  in  her  view,  believing  in  her  as  I  do.  She's 
big  herself,  you  know,  James.  And  she's  simple  and 
direct  too.  She  has  found  herself,  living  here  in  the 
country.  Eighteen  months  ago  she  wouldn't  have  fallen 
in  love  with  Bradby,  any  more  than  B  would.  She's 
been  getting  away  from  the  sort  of  life  she  was  brought 
up  to  all  the  time.  I've  known  that." 

"  But  do  you  want  that  ?  It  means  she's  getting 
away  from  you.  I  should  have  thought  that  was  the 
last  thing  you'd  have  wanted." 

"  Damn  it,  man !  Can't  you  see  into  things  a  bit  ? 
How  much  do  you  think  I  should  be  likely  to  want  a 
marriage  of  this  sort  for  a  daughter  of  mine,  if  it  were 
left  to  me?  I  was  absolutely  bowled  over  by  it.  I'll 
say  that,  just  once  to  you,  and  get  it  out  of  the  way. 
I'll  say  it  to  nobody  else,  and  I  won't  let  Caroline  know 
it  if  I  can  possibly  help  it.  Supposing  I  stood  out! 
What  should  I  stand  out  on?  On  everything  that  she 
sees  as  plainly  as  I  do,  but  rejects  for  herself.  And 


228  THE   GRAFTONS 

what  she  sees  and  accepts  as  all  important  for  her,  and 
for  the  best  part  of  her,  she'd  find  me  incapable  of 
accepting.  What  could  part  us  more  than  that?  She's 
made  up  her  mind,  and  she's  sure  she's  right.  She 
won't  change ;  it  would  be  a  come  down  for  her  to  take 
the  view  of  it  all  that  strikes  you  and  me.  I'm  what 
I  am,  and  what  my  life  has  made  me.  I  can't  help  this 
being  a  grievous  disappointment  to  me.  I  want  all 
sorts  of  things  for  her  that  I've  a  right  to  want  for 
my  daughter.  But  if  she  doesn't  want  them — if  she 
doesn't  think  they're  the  best  things — !  " 

"  She's  bound  to  miss  all  she's  been  brought  up  to." 

"  If  I  thought  she  would  I  might  stick  out,  for  her 
sake.  It  wouldn't  bring  me  much  consolation  to  stick 
out.  I  should  only  be  dividing  myself  from  her,  as  I 
did  for  a  time  from  B.  I  don't  want  that  again.  I've 
learnt  something.  I  stuck  out  against  that  fellow 
because  I  felt  right  through  me  that  he  wasn't  right 
in  himself,  for  B.  If  I  stood  out  against  Bradby,  it 
would  be  because  he  wasn't  a  match  for  Caroline  in 
money  and  ppsition  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  I'm  not 
going  to  base  myself  on  all  that,  and  show  myself 
incapable  of  sharing  her  bigger  ideals.  And  what 
would  be  the  good?  It  would  hurt  her  damnably  to 
know  that  I  couldn't  stand  beside  her  on  that  plane; 
but  she'd  never  come  down  to  mine." 

Worthing  showed  himself  impressed.  "  If  you  think 
of  her  like  that ! "  he  said. 

"  Well,  isn't  it  the  right  way  to  think  about  her? 
There  are  some  people  in  the  world  whom  you  can 


MAURICE  229 

trust  never  to  go  wrong.  She's  one  of  them.  Her 
mother  was  another.  If  her  mother  had  been  alive, 
she'd  have  backed  her  up.  I've  tried  my  best  to  stand 
for  what  she  would  have  done  towards  our  children,  but 
a  man  can  only  make  a  clumsy  job  of  that  at  his  best. 
Still,  where  I  see  it,  I'm  going  to  take  her  line  rather 
than  my  own.  I'd  have  trusted  her ;  and  I  trust  Caro- 
line." 

Worthing  was  silent  for  a  time.  Then  he  said: 
"  Well,  I  hope  you're  right  about  it.  I  can't  say  it 
looks  anything  but  odd  to  me.  I  don't  think  you  can 
care  about  it  much  yourself,  either.  You  must  have 
had  a  difficult  time  bringing  yourself  to  your  present 
way  of  thinking.  I  can  see  that.  It  does  you  a  lot 
of  credit." 

Grafton  sat  silent  too,  looking  down.  Presently  he 
said,  as  if  summing  it  all  up :  "I  trust  Caroline.  If  I 
don't  see  it  as  she  does,  it's  because  my  ideas  aren't 
likely  to  be  as  right  as  hers.  But  for  my  own  sake, 
and  hers  too,  I  shall  try  to  see  it  as  she  does.  And  I 
shall  stand  between  her  and  her  relations.  I  shan't 
say  as  much  to  any  of  them  as  I  have  to  you.  We'd 
better  go  up  to  them,  I  think.  Don't  let  him  see 
what  you  think  about  it,  more  than  you  can  help. 
Make  the  best  of  him." 

Grafton  had  a  talk  with  Maurice  alone  the  next 
morning.  He  had  never  found  it  easy  to  talk  to  him, 
except  where  it  was  a  question  of  the  things  he  knew 
about.  He  had  as  little  of  the  art  of  general  conversa- 
tion as  a  young  man  of  his  age  very  well  could  have, 


230  THE    GRAFTONS 

and  his  diffidence  had  made  him  even  rather  tiresome 
as  a  companion. 

But  there  was  none  in  the  way  he  spoke  now.  He  had 
gained  Caroline's  love,  which  made  him  feel  himself 
a  king  among  men,  though  in  desert  still  far  beneath 
her.  He  was  full  of  gratitude  for  the  gift  of  her  love, 
and  he  was  grateful  too  to  her  father  for  his  accept- 
ance of  him  as  her  lover. 

"  I  know  what  a  lot  there  is  against  me,"  he  said 
quietly,  "  that  you  are  bound  to  take  into  account. 
But  although  she's  so  much  above  me  in  every  way, 
we  love  the  same  things,  and  I  can  give  her  something 
that  another  man  might  not.  I've  found  out  that  I 
can  make  her  happy.  That's  the  most  wonderful  dis- 
covery I've  ever  made.  I  hope  you'll  trust  me  to  do 
it." 

"  My  dear  boy,"  Grafton  said,  "  I've  got  to  trust 
you.  She  does.  It's  all  I  want  of  you,  that  you  should 
make  her  happy,  all  her  life.  I've  made  her  happy  up 
till  now.  But  a  father  can't  complete  his  daughter's 
life,  however  much  he  loves  her.  Only  a  husband  can 
do  that.  She  believes  you're  the  one  man  in  the  world 
who  can  give  her  all  she  wants,  and  because  she  believes 
it,  I'm  bound  to  believe  it  too.  Tell  me  the  course  of 
life  you  have  in  your  mind  for  yourselves.  I  know 
you've  talked  it  over  together,  but  I  told  her  I'd  rather 
have  it  from  you.  I  want  to  get  into  complete  sym- 
pathy with  you  as  well  as  with  her." 

"  I  know  it  must  be  difficult  for  you,  Mr.  Grafton," 
the  boy  said.  "  We  are  both  very  grateful  to  you  for 


MAURICE  231 

the  way  you  have  treated  me.  I  didn't  expect  you'd 
be  so  kind  about  it.  She  said  you  would  be,  but  I 
think  I  can  see  more  clearly  than  she  does  what  a 
difference  there  is  between  us.  In  the  way  you'd  look 
at  it,  I  think  I  see  it  just  as  clearly  as  you  do." 

"  Well,  I'm  glad  you've  said  that,  Maurice.  I  sup- 
pose a  father  is  apt  to  think  about  the  material  side 
of  marriage  for  his  daughters  more  than  the  other.  I 
think  he's  right  to  do  it,  because  with  the  experience 
he  has  reached  he  knows  well  enough  that  the  ma- 
terial side  of  a  marriage  is  a  lot  more  important  than 
two  young  people  who  have  fallen  in  love  with  one 
another  are  likely  to  see  for  themselves.  It  mustn't 
be  left  out  of  account  with  you  two.  That's  why  I 
want  to  know  what  your  ideas  are — as  to  the  way 
you've  planned  it  out  for  yourselves." 

"  We  look  at  it  like  this,"  he  answered  at  once.  "  A 
very  simple  life,  in  the  country,  will  give  both  of  us 
what  we  most  want.  It's  easy  enough  for  me,  because 
it's  more  than  I've  ever  had.  Even  the  way  I  live  with 
Mr.  Worthing,  and  coming  here,  and  going  to  other 
houses  like  this,  is  more  than  I've  had.  I  should 
expect  to  be  able  to  get  to  that  by  what  I  can  earn, 
by  and  bye,  but  of  course  it's  much  less  than  Caroline 
has  been  used  to.  I've  thought  about  it  a  great  deal, 
and  tried  to  take  into  account  everything  that  she 
would  be  losing  by  marrying  me — to  see  whether  she 
ought  not  to  lose  any  of  it." 

"  Well,  what  do  you  think  she  will  be  losing?  " 

"  The  biggest  thing,  which  would  trouble  me  greatly 


232  THE   GRAFTONS 

if  I  thought  she  would  lose  it  because  of  me,  would  be 
the  way  you  and  her  own  family  would  look  upon  her. 
If  it  wouldn't  make  any  difference — " 

"  Well,  it  won't  make  any  difference  to  me.  I've 
assured  you  of  that  already." 

"  I'm  rather  afraid  of  how  Beatrix  will  take  it." 

"  Beatrix  won't  like  it,  Maurice.  We'd  better  look 
it  all  in  the  face.  I  don't  know  how  her  life  will  turn 
out,  but  it  will  never  be  so  free  of  the  world  as  Caro- 
line's will.  She  isn't  built  on  the  same  lines,  and  they 
won't  come  together  on  the  deepest  things  in  Caroline's 
life.  She  won't  understand  them.  But  they  love  one  an- 
other, and  they'll  go  on  loving  one  another." 

"  Yes,  I  think  so.  It  was  you  I  thought  most  about. 
Then  her  other  relations,  and  all  the  people  she  has 
lived  among,  and  I  haven't.  She  will  be  cut  off  from 
them.  Not  entirely,  where  they  are  real  friends;  but 
she  will  no  longer  be  living  their  life,  and  I'm  not  fitted 
to  live  it.  She  won't  be  able  to  see  so  much  even  of 
those  who  would  want  her,  and  she  would  like  to  see. 
She  won't  be  able  to  pay  many  visits,  or  go  much  to 
London.  She  will  miss  all  the  clever  interesting  people 
she  has  constantly  met,  and  being  in  the  world,  and 
part  of  it,  as  she  has  been." 

Grafton  laughed.  "  She'll  have  told  you  that  she 
has  already  reconciled  herself  to  not  living  much  in 
the  world,"  he  said. 

"  Yes,  she  has.  But  I  had  to  ask  myself  for  her 
whether  she  wouldn't  miss  it  more  than  she  thinks. 
She  has  a  great  deal  of  it  still — here.  She  wouldn't 


MAURICE  233 

have  nearly  so  much.  And  of  course  all  that  it  means 
living  in  a  house  like  this  she  would  lose, — what  she 
has  grown  used  to,  and  doesn't  think  about,  because 
she  has  always  had  it.  I  can  see  how  different  her 
life  would  be." 

"  I  think  you've  faced  it  all  pretty  straight,  Maurice, 
except  that  she'll  lose  consideration  in  the  world.  How 
does  that  strike  you  ?  " 

He  hesitated  a  moment.  "  I  don't  think  it  matters," 
he  said. 

"  Perhaps  it  doesn't.  But  why  don't  you  think  it 
matters  ?  " 

"  Because  nothing  that  she  will  be  if  she  marries 
me  will  be  less  than  what  she  has  been.  Everybody 
whose  opinion  she  would  value  would  know  that." 

"  Well,  I  think  you've  got  that  right  too.  And  as 
for  all  the  rest — there's  a  certain  way  of  living  that 
one  wouldn't  like  to  see  one's  daughter  fall  below;  but 
it  doesn't  depend  upon  big  houses,  or  a  lot  of  money. 
There's  no  reason  why  she  shouldn't  have  it.  I  do 
think  myself,  that  with  a  girl  like  Caroline,  so  suited 
to  take  her  place  in  the  best  sort  of  society  that  the 
world  has  to  offer,  it's  a  pity  she  shouldn't  have  it. 
But  we've  had  that  out  together  and  she  says  she  doesn't 
want  it.  She  wants  something  else,  which  she  thinks  is 
better.  I  wish  she  could  have  had  both ;  but  if  not,  she's 
made  her  choice,  with  her  eyes  open,  and  I'm  not  going 
to  say  that  I  think  she's  wrong.  She  won't  be  losing 
everything  that  she  has  been  brought  up  to  either. 
What  are  your  ideas  about  getting  married?" 


234  THE   GRAFTONS 

"  We  haven't  talked  about  it  much  yet.  It's  for  the 
future,  when  we  can  see  ourselves  settled  somewhere." 

Grafton  sat  thinking  for  some  time.  Then  he  got 
up  from  his  chair.  "  Well,  I  expect  you'll  want  to  see 
Caroline  now,"  he  said.  "  I  must  go  down  and  write 
some  letters." 


CHAPTER  XVII 
HOW  THEY  TOOK  IT 

WHEN  Grafton  left  Maurice's  room  he  went  to  the 
Long  Gallery,  where  Caroline  was  sitting  with  Miss 
Waterhouse.  When  Caroline  went  away  he  stayed 
there.  Miss  Waterhouse  had  not  yet  expressed  herself 
to  him. 

"Well,  Dragon,  what  do  you  think  of  it  all?"  he 
asked  her. 

"  I  think  you  have  been  very  wise,  and  very  kind," 
she  said. 

"It  had  to  be— eh?" 

"  Yes,  I  think  it  had  to  be,  under  the  circumstances." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  the  circumstances  ?  " 

"  When  two  young  people  are  brought  together  in 
the  way  they  have  been,  I  think  love  is  likely  to  come 
of  it." 

Her  answer  made  him  vaguely  uneasy.  "  That's 
what  the  world  will  say,"  he  said.  "  If  it  were  only 
that,  it  wouldn't  be  very  satisfactory,  would  it?  Don't 
you  see  a  deeper  suitability  in  it  than  there  is  on  the 
surface?  It's  what  I  have  to  look  for,  to  make  it 
bearable." 

"  I  think  there  is  what  you  call  a  deeper  suitability. 
I  think  Caroline  will  be  happy  in  her  marriage,  when 
the  time  comes  for  it." 

235 


236  THE   GRAFTONS 

**  You're  not  very  enthusiastic,  Dragon.  Is  she  satis- 
fied with  your  view  of  it?  " 

"  I  was  the  only  person  who  knew  anything  until  you 
came  home.  I  sympathised  with  her.  I  saw  how  deep 
her  love  was.  But  I  couldn't  be  enthusiastic  until  I 
knew  how  you  would  take  it.  I  couldn't  have  said 
that  you  would  have  been  wrong  in  asking  at  least 
for  a  term  of  probation,  as  you  did  in  Beatrix's 
case." 

"  But  I  didn't  ask  for  it — because  I  trusted  Caro- 
line to  have  faced  all  the  objections  she  would  know  I 
should  feel,  and  just  exactly  not  to  have  allowed  her- 
self to  fall  in  love  owing  to  what  you  call  the  circum- 
stances. She  would  know  what  she  wanted,  I  said  to 
myself.  And  she  wouldn't  change,  whatever  I  did  or 
said.  It  wouldn't  have  come  to  an  end  of  itself,  as 
Beatrix's  affair  did.  I  hope  you're  not  going  to  say 
that  my  reasoning  was  wrong.  It  hasn't  been  very  easy 
to  sink  all  my  own  ideas — of  fitness — of  what  one  would 
expect  in  marriage  for  a  girl  like  Caroline." 

"  I  think  you've  been  entirely  right ;  more  right  than 
if  you'd  stood  out,  or  even  questioned  it.  It  would  have 
made  no  difference,  and  you'd  have  had  to  give  way 
in  the  end.  Nothing  you  could  have  done  or  said 
would  have  so  added  to  dear  Caroline's  happiness  as 
what  you  have  said  and  done.  She  was  dreading 
more  than  anything  a  separation  in  spirit  from  you.  I 
know  that,  though  she  said  little  about  it.  Now  that 
fear  is  removed  she  is  blissfully  happy.  Nothing  that 
anybody  else  says  will  matter  to  her  at  all." 


HOW   THEY   TOOK   IT  237 

"  And  yet  you  don't  seem  to  think  I  reached  my 
conclusions  in  the  right  way." 

"  What  I  think  is  that  she  couldn't  have  reasoned 
it  out  in  the  way  you  thought  she  had.  A  woman 
doesn't  reason  like  that — or  at  least  she  doesn't. 
It  was  just  her  heart  that  guided  her." 

"  But  she  did  reason.  She  told  me  that  if  he  hadn't 
been  what  she  has  found  out  for  herself  that  he  is,  and 
she'd  been  inclined  to  fall  in  love  with  him — just  in 
the  way  you  say  she  has,  with  gratitude,  and  pity, 
working  in  her — I  suppose  that's  what  you  mean — 
she'd  have  resisted  it." 

"  I  think  she  couldn't  have  fallen  in  love  with  him, 
unless  he'd  shown  himself  to  her  as  he  has.  There 
wouldn't  be  anything,  for  her,  to  fall  in  love  with.  It 
was  her  heart  prompted  her  all  the  time.  But  of  course 
she  has  tried  hard  to  see  it  all  in  the  light  that  you 
have  taught  her  to  follow.  She  would  want  to  satisfy 
you  that  she  hadn't  given  her  love  lightly.  She 
wouldn't  have  wanted  to  satisfy  herself.  She  would 
have  known  that  she  was  right." 

"Do  you  think  she's  right,  Dragon?" 

"  Yes,  I  do." 

"  And  you're  not  disappointed  that  this  has  come 
about?" 

"  Not  for  her  sake.  I  am  for  yours.  You  would 
have  expected  her  to  shine  in  the  world  you  belong 
to,  and  that  she  has  belonged  to.  You  must  suffer 
somewhat  in  your  just  pride  in  her.  But  it's  a  far 


238  THE   GRAFTONS 

bigger  thing  to  be  able  to  sink  that,  and  to  want  only 
her  happiness,  and  to  trust  her  to  know  where  it  lies. 
You'll  certainly  have  your  reward,  though  it  may 
take  some  time  to  get  over  the  disappointment.  She'll 
love  and  trust  you,  as  she  couldn't  have  done  if  you 
had  stood  out  ever  so  little." 

"  Well,  you're  very  cornforting,  Dragon.  Stimulat- 
ing too.  I  told  Worthing  something  of  what  I'd  gone 
through  about  it,  last  night,  and  said  that  I  shouldn't 
say  as  much  to  anybody  else.  But  you're  different.  I 
shall  have  to  stick  up  to  Katharine  Handsworth  and 
Mary  Grafton,  and  all  the  rest  of  them,  when  my  own 
feeling  will  be  much  the  same  as  theirs.  I  want  some- 
thing to  support  me." 

"  Yes.  But  I  think  it  will  all  die  down  sooner  than 
you  think.  All  women  are  at  heart  sympathetic  with 
a  love  match,  you  know.  And  they  love  Caroline. 
They  won't  want  to  make  her  feel  that  she  is  lowering 
herself." 

"What  about  B?" 

"  Caroline  has  written  to  her,  and  to  Barbara  and 
Bunting.  Whatever  B  has  to  say  will  be  said  to  you, 
not  to  Caroline." 

"  B  has  been  more  critical  of  Maurice  than  anybody, 
you  know." 

"  She  will  want  that  forgotten." 

He  was  silent  for  a  time,  and  then  asked :  "  What  are 
Caroline's  ideas  about  getting  married?  She  hasn't 
said  anything  to  me  about  that  yet." 

"  She  has  said  very  little  to  me.     Having  her  en- 


HOW  THEY   TOOK   IT  239 

gagement  just  on  the  right  footing  has  been  enough 
for  her." 

"  Has  she  said  anything  at  all?  " 

"  She  would  expect  to  wait,  I  think,  until  he  got 
some  sort  of  place;  then  she  would  not  mind  in  how 
small  a  way  they  began." 

"  Well,  there's  no  reason  why  they  should  begin  in 
such  a  very  small  way.  If  I  accept  Maurice  as  the 
right  husband  for  her,  I  should  naturally  do  for  her 
what  I  did  for  B." 

He  had  settled  ten  thousand  pounds  on  Beatrix. 
Miss  Waterhouse  knew  this.  So  did  Caroline. 

"  They  could  marry  at  any  time  on  that,"  she  said. 
"  And  he  will  be  earning  something  in  a  few  months. 
Do  you  want  them  to  marry  soon  ?  " 

"  Well  now,  I'll  make  a  clean  breast  of  it  to  you, 
my  dear  Dragon.  As  long  as  they  are  not  married,  I 
shan't  be  able  to  prevent  myself  having  a  sort  of  hope 
that  they  won't  be,  after  all." 

She  smiled.  "  You  will  have  more  pleasure  of  her 
now,"  she  said,  "  when  she  is  settled  in  her  new  life." 

"  That's  what  I've  told  myself.  She  will  be  very 
careful,  I  know,  to  let  it  make  as  little  difference  be- 
tween her  and  me  as  possible.  But  it  can't  be  quite 
the  same  as  it  has  been.  She  has  given  her  love  to 
him,  and  I  must  be  second  where  I've  been  first.  But 
when  she's  once  married  he'll  have  his  place  and  I  shall 
have  mine.  We  shan't  clash  in  any  way.  I'm  happier 
about  B  now  than  I  was  for  the  month  or  two  before 
she  was  married." 


240  THE   GRAFTONS 

It  was  the  first  time  he  had  alluded  to  Beatrix's  at- 
titude towards  him  at  that  time. 

"  I  think  B  was  selfish,"  she  said  at  once.  "  Caroline 
won't  be  like  that.  Her  love  is  as  deep  as  B's — deeper, 
for  she  has  a  deeper  nature — but  it  will  not  carry  her 
away  in  the  same  way.  She  will  never  hurt  others  who 
love  her." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  her  happily  married,  you  know. 
She'll  be  more  than  she's  ever  been.  It  will  complete 
her.  She's  one  of  the  right  people,  Dragon.  The 
deeper  you  go  down,  the  more  you  find." 

"  Yes,  she's  like  that,  the  dear  child.  And  she  has 
gained  greatly  in  character  since  we  came  to  live  here." 

"  You've  seen  that,  have  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes.    It's  the  good  simplicity  in  her." 

"  That's  what  she  says  she  sees  in  him ;  it's  where 
they  come  together.  Well,  he'll  have  his  regular  job 
here,  next  year.  It  won't  be  much,  but  with  what  I 
shall  give  her  they  could  begin.  They  could  have 
Stone  Cottage.  Do  you  think  Caroline  has  thought  of 
that  at  all?" 

"  She  hasn't  said  anything  about  it.  But  it  would 
be  just  the  right  beginning  for  them;  and  it  would 
be  delightful  for  us  to  have  her  so  near." 

"  We  should  have  to  think  of  it  as  having  them 
so  near,  shouldn't  we?  It  would  mean  a  lot  to  me,  and 
to  you  too,  and  the  children,  to  have  her  here;  but — . 
Well,  I've  said  nothing  about  it  to  her  or  to  him  yet. 
They  may  have  some  idea  that  they  ought  to  wait  till 
he  can  do  it  all,  or  most  of  it,  for  her.  I  don't  want  to 


HOW   THEY   TOOK   IT  241 

claim  more  than  is  my  right  in  her,  Dragon.  I've  had 
a  bit  of  a  lesson  about  that  with  B,  you  know." 

"  I  think  he  would  have  no  right  to  object  to  her 
doing  more  to  support  their  home  than  he  can  at  first. 
It  is  just  where  the  difference,  that  you  can't  get  over, 
comes  in.  Caroline  ought  not  to  be  kept  waiting 
because  he  is  not  the  sort  of  young  man  she  would 
have  been  expected  to  marry.  What  you  would  give 
her  would  help  in  any  case,  as  it  helps  with  Beatrix. 
It  is  only  that  in  this  case  it  would  help  much  more. 
It  would  be  just  one  of  the  many  things  she  would 
bring  him  that  he  is  very  fortunate  to  get  with  her. 
It  would  be  a  test  of  the  large  simplicity  she  sees  in 
him  if  he  took  it  gratefully,  and  without  question." 

He  laughed  at  her.  "  Why,  Dragon,"  he  said.  "  I 
believe,  after  all,  you  take  Worthing's  view  of  it — 
that  it's  infernal  impudence  of  him  to  expect  to  get 
Caroline  at  all." 

She  smiled  in  return.  "  I  have  every  hope  that  he 
will  prove  worthy  of  her,"  was  all  the  answer  she 
made  to  this  charge. 

Grafton  made  his  offer  to  Caroline,  and  gained  all 
he  could  have  wanted  in  return  from  her  glowing  grate- 
ful expression  of  happiness.  "  Darling  old  Daddy, 
you  are  good  to  us,"  she  said.  "  I  do  want  to  begin 
soon,  but  I  didn't  know  whether  it  would  be  possible. 
Stone  Cottage  will  be  just  perfect  for  us;  we  shall  be 
near  you,  which  will  be  lovely.  I  must  go  and  tell 
Maurice  at  once." 

Maurice  thanked  Grafton  for  this  extra  gift  in  a 


242  THE   GRAFTONS 

way  that  pleased  him.  You've  given  me  Caroline,"  he 
said,  "  and  now  you've  given  us  both  this.  I  have 
more  to  thank  you  for,  Mr.  Grafton,  than  I  can  ever 
say." 

His  gratitude  showed  itself  continually  in  his  atti- 
tude towards  the  older  man.  Grafton  knew  that  affec- 
tion and  admiration  were  working  in  his  mind  towards 
him,  and  he  had  only  to  stretch  out  his  hand  and  take 
it,  if  he  wanted  it.  The  workings  of  his  own  mind 
were  contradictory.  Outwardly,  and  with  strong 
restraint  over  himself,  he  had  done  the  utmost  that 
could  have  been  expected  of  him.  He  had  sunk  all  his 
grudges,  and  hidden  all  his  disappointment.  But  he 
knew  that  still  more  had  to  be  done  if  he  were  to  gain 
the  contentment  in  Caroline's  marriage  that  for  her 
sake  he  was  simulating.  It  could  only  be  done  by 
receiving  Maurice  as  a  son,  and  if  he  could  not  do 
that  for  Maurice's  own  sake  as  well  as  for  Caroline's, 
she  would  find  it  out  sooner  or  later,  and  her  happiness 
would  be  dimmed.  And  her  love  for  himself  would  have 
received  a  hurt. 

He  set  himself  to  talk  to  Maurice,  to  find  out  what 
was  in  him,  to  make  contact.  He  found  all  the  boy's 
simple  philosophy  of  life  good  and  straight  and  true, 
and  under  the  impulse  of  his  great  happiness  and 
gratitude  he  found  expression  for  it.  His  whole  being 
was  set  towards  Caroline.  His  ambitions  were  all 
towards  fitting  himself  to  be  her  worthy  companion  in 
life,  and  to  bringing  her  the  fruit  of  his  gifts.  These 
could  never  be  to  any  considerable  extent  those  to  be 


HOW   THEY   TOOK   IT  243 

exchanged  for  money,  and  his  thoughts  did  not  run 
on  the  lines  of  a  successful  career.  He  would  be  worth 
a  good  position  in  the  limited  field  to  which  he  would 
devote  his  energies,  and  he  took  it  for  granted  that  it 
would  come  to  him  by  and  bye.  For  himself  he  looked 
upon  it  only  as  giving  him  further  scope  for  the  work 
for  which  he  was  fitting  himself.  There  was  never  any 
hint  of  increased  opportunities  for  his  own  pleasure 
in  the  future.  He  would  have  the  full  fruition  of  his 
own  desires  from  the  first,  and  he  would  owe  it  to  Caro- 
line and  in  a  secondary  degree  to  Grafton.  It  was 
she  whom  he  would  work  and  live  for.  There  was  a 
more  single-minded  devotion  in  his  attitude  towards 
her  than  in  Dick's  towards  Beatrix.  All  Dick's  life 
and  work  would  be  sweetened  by  Beatrix's  love,  but 
they  would  be  pursued,  as  the  life  and  work  of  most 
men  are  pursued,  for  their  own  ends.  Caroline  would 
be  the  end  and  aim  of  Maurice's  whole  existence. 

Grafton  was  soothed  in  his  spirit  by  this  whole- 
hearted homage  paid  to  his  girl.  She  was  worth  every 
bit  of  it,  but  a  lover  does  not  always  honour  his  mis- 
tress for  what  she  is;  it  is  often  enough  for  him  if  she 
is  what  he  wants  her  to  be.  Grafton  would  have  been 
up  in  arms  at  once  if  Maurice  had  shown  himself  merely 
overjoyed  at  winning  Caroline,  and  holding  himself  as 
if  he  had  only  gained  his  deserts.  He  was  not  pre- 
pared to  look  upon  her  as  fulfilling  her  destiny  in  deco- 
rating and  solacing  Maurice's  unimportant  life,  how- 
ever she  might  think  of  herself  and  her  duties  towards 
him.  But  if  Maurice  looked  upon  himself  as  owing 


244  THE   GRAFTONS 

her  lifelong  devotion  and  service,  his  relationship  to- 
wards her  brought  no  sense  of  assumption  to  her  father. 
It  was  the  right  relationship  in  his  view,  and  he  could 
rest  himself  upon  it,  as  the  conviction  strengthened 
itself  that  it  was  based  upon  something  stable  and  sure 
in  Maurice's  character. 

Taking  pains  to  find  qualities  in  him  that  he  had 
not  troubled  to  look  for  before,  he  was  inclined  to  won- 
der that  he  had  thought  him  dull  and  uninteresting  in 
conversation.  When  he  had  something  real  to  talk 
about  he  could  talk  as  well  as  another,  if  he  were  en- 
couraged to  do  so.  The  difference  that  had  always 
hampered  him  with  Grafton,  as  a  much  older  man,  most 
of  whose  experiences  and  interests  were  beyond  his 
reach,  was  being  solved  by  the  affection  that  was  reach- 
ing out  for  expression.  The  most  learned  of  men  find 
pleasure  in  the  conversation  of  those  who  are  not 
learned,  if  it  is  natural,  and  especially  if  there  is  af- 
fection to  influence  it.  And  Grafton  was  not  learned; 
his  brains  were  no  better  than  Maurice's,  though  ex- 
pression of  them  came  easier  to  him. 

He  knew,  by  the  end  of  those  two  days,  before  he 
went  back  to  his  work  in  London,  that  he  had  only  to 
open  his  heart  to  Maurice,  and  he  would  gain  from 
him  all  that  a  man  who  loved  his  daughter  could  want 
from  her  husband.  He  had  Dick's  affection  and  friend- 
ship. Maurice's  was  just  as  well  worth  having,  and 
it  would  be  given  him  in  still  greater  measure. 

As  he  travelled  up  to  London  he  smiled  to  himself 
as  he  remembered  the  way  the  Prescotts  had  received 


245 

the  news.  They  were  the  only  people,  except  Miss 
Waterhouse  and  Worthing,  who  knew  of  it  yet. 

They  had  guessed  it,  Viola  had  said  in  triumph.  She 
had  told  Gerry  it  was  bound  to  happen,  and  he  had 
said  he  had  seen  it  before  she  had,  upon  which  had 
followed  a  fearsome  quarrel.  The  one  thing  Gerry 
would  not  stand  was  anybody  being  cleverer  than  him- 
self, and  unless  she  was  prepared  to  acknowledge  her- 
self a  sort  of  bat-eyed  idiot  their  married  life  would 
be  wrecked  sooner  or  later. 

Neither  of  them  had  seen  anything  at  all  unsuitable  in 
an  engagement  between  Maurice  and  Caroline.  In 
fact  they  had  seemed  to  expect  Grafton  to  be  at  least 
as  pleased  about  it  as  they  were  themselves.  He  had 
not  led  them  to  suppose  that  he  was  not  pleased,  but 
had  given  them  opportunities  of  showing  the  opinion 
they  held  about  Maurice. 

They  had  laid  stress  on  his  complete  unselfishness. 
"  He'll  go  out  of  his  way  to  help  anybody,"  Prescott 
had  said.  "  And  he  does  it  because  it's  his  nature  to, 
not  because  he  thinks  he  ought  to.  He  thinks  about 
himself  less  than  anybody  I've  ever  known.  Caroline 
will  have  a  splendid  husband." 

There  was  the  unworldly  view.  The  question  of  sta- 
tion in  life  did  not  interest  the  Prescotts.  Grafton 
knew  that  it  would  interest  the  people  he  would  see  in 
London  considerably. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

MORE  OPINIONS 

THE  House  in  Cadogan  Place  had  been  given  up,  and 
Grafton  had  taken  a  flat.  Beatrix  dined  with  him 
there  on  Monday.  Dick  was  stationed  at  Chatham, 
but  was  unable  to  get  away  that  evening. 

Beatrix  was  radiantly  happy,  and  more  beautiful 
than  ever.  She  was  growing  up  to  herself  all  round. 
Every  time  that  he  saw  her,  Grafton  congratulated 
himself  anew  upon  having  saved  her  from  that  other 
marriage.  Perhaps  at  first  she  would  have  shown  her- 
self just  as  happy  in  it;  but  he  would  always  have 
been  looking  for  developments,  and  changes,  none  of 
which  he  would  have  expected  to  be  for  the  better. 
Now  he  knew  that  all  her  charm  of  character  could 
find  safe  play,  and  add  to  her  own  happiness  and  the 
happiness  of  those  about  her,  and  that  its  deeper 
qualities  would  be  brought  into  being  too,  fostered 
and  strengthened.  There  was  a  quality  of  all-round 
fitness  in  her  marriage  upon  which  he,  who  loved  her, 
could  rest  himself  with  pleasure.  And  she  was  always 
demonstratively  affectionate  towards  him  when  they 
met,  though  not  quite  in  the  same  way  as  she  had  been 
before  her  marriage.  All  her  thoughts  were  centred 
in  Dick,  and  if  he  had  not  been  prepared  to  accept 
Dick  as  deserving  of  all  that  she  gave  him,  he  would 

246 


MORE   OPINIONS  247 

have  felt  the  difference.  But  there  was  nothing  about 
Dick  that  he  did  not  like  and  respect.  He  had  taken 
him  in,  as  he  had  told  Caroline  he  must  be  able  to 
take  in  his  daughters'  husbands,  if  he  were  not  to  feel 
too  acutely  their  loss,  and  as  he  was  now  struggling 
to  take  Maurice  in,  for  Caroline's  sake,  and  also  for 
his  own. 

"  Daddy,  darling,  how  awful  this  is  about  Caroline !  " 
was  Beatrix's  first  word  upon  that  subject. 

He  had  not  expected  quite  such  a  determined  ex- 
pression of  opinion,  and  hardly  knew  what  to  reply 
for  the  moment.  It  gave  him  a  slight  sinking  of  heart, 
he  had  no  time  to  ask  himself  why. 

"  You  haven't  told  her  you  think  it's  awful,  have 
you  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  no,  of  course  not.  I've  written  her  a  very  nice 
letter.  So  has  Dick.  And  we've  both  written  to  Mau- 
rice. It  seems  funny  to  have  to  call  him  Maurice.  If 
she's  got  to  marry  him,  Dick  says  we  must  treat  him 
as  if  we  were  pleased  about  it.  And  she  told  us  that 
you  had  been  simply  adorable  about  it.  So  we  knew 
that  was  the  line  you'd  like  us  to  take.  But  you  can't 
really  be  pleased,  are  you,  Dad?  " 

"  Why  do  you  think  it's  so  awful  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  Daddy,  darling,  look  at  him !  Look  at  him  be- 
side a  man  like  Dick." 

This  rather  annoyed  him,  but  he  did  not  show  it. 
"  Oh,  well,  look  at  anybody  beside  Dick ! "  he  said, 
pinching  her  chin. 

Dinner  was  announced  at  that  moment,  and  the  sub- 


248  THE   GRAFTONS 

ject  was  avoided  until  the  servant  left  them  alone  to- 
gether. Then  Grafton  spoke  immediately.  "  Look 
here,  B  darling,"  he  said,  "  I  hope  you  won't  go  about 
crabbing  this  marriage  of  Cara's.  If  you  do,  she's 
bound  to  find  it  out  sooner  or  later,  and  it  will  make 
her  unhappy.  It  won't  alter  anything.  She  won't 
take  your  view  of  him,  you  know,  and  it  can  only 
divide  her  from  you.  It  will  make  a  cleavage  in  our 
family,  and  that's  just  what  I  don't  want.  You'll 
each  have  your  own  homes,  but  your  old  home  will  be 
a  centre  for  all  of  you  too.  This  chap  will  be  part  of 
the  family  now,  and  we've  got  to  accept  him,  for 
Caroline's  sake." 

She  laughed  at  him.  "  This  chap !  "  she  repeated. 
K  You  darling  transparent  old  thing !  You  think  it's 
just  as  odd  as  I  do — her  marrying  like  that.  You 
didn't  talk  of  Dick  as  « this  chap ! '  " 

He  was  annoyed  with  himself  for  the  slip.  He  had 
not  meant  to  excuse  or  explain  himself  to  Beatrix,  but 
now  he  would  have  to.  "  That's  just  what  I  was  warn- 
ing you  about,"  he  said.  "  I  don't  deny  that  there  are 
certain  things  one  has  to  get  over,  and  until  you  do 
get  over  them  you're  likely  to  let  drop  something  that 
shows  you  haven't  quite.  That's  what  you  must  be 
careful  about." 

"  Well,  darling,  I'm  glad  you  haven't  been  so  careful 
as  all  that,  with  me.  You  can  quite  safely  tell  me 
everything.  It  wouldn't  be  nice  of  you  to  pretend 
before  me.  I  might  think  it  very  splendid  of  you,  but 
I  shouldn't  love  you  more  for  it.  I'm  quite  ready  to 


MORE   OPINIONS  249 

back  you  up  in  keeping  what  you  really  think  from 
Caroline." 

He  felt  the  ground  slipping  from  beneath  his  feet. 
"What  does  Dick  say  about  it?"  he  asked.  "Can't 
he  see  anything  in.  Maurice  that  all  the  world  can't 
see?" 

"  He  thinks  he  is  very  nice ;  but  of  course  he  doesn't 
look  upon  him  as  a  suitable  husband  for  Caroline.  He 
doesn't  think  you  can  either,  and  he  can't  make  out  why 
you  don't  try  to  stop  it.  You  did  with  me — before — 
and  we've  never  ceased  blessing  you  for  it." 

"  I  didn't  try  to  stop  it  with  you  because  that  fel- 
low— I  suppose  you've  no  objection  to  my  calling  him 
that—" 

"  You  can  call  him  what  you  like,  darling." 

"  Well,  I  didn't  object  to  him  because  he  hadn't 
got  enough  money.  That's  about  what  it  would  come 
to  here." 

"  Oh,  no,  it  isn't,  darling.  And  you  don't  think  it  is 
either." 

"  Oh,  if  you  can't  talk  about  it  sensibly,  B,  we'd 
better  chuck  it."  He  rose  from  the  table. 

She  rose  too  and  slipped  her  arm  into  his  as  they 
went  into  the  other  room,  and  laughed  at  him.  "  I 
think  it's  awfully  sweet  of  you  to  want  to  make  the 
best  of  it,"  she  said.  "  I  won't  worry  you  any  more, 
darling,  if  you're  certain  that  nothing  can  stop  it." 

"  Well,  you  ought  to  be  able  to  see  it  as  I  do.  You 
know  what  Caroline  is.  She  wouldn't  give  her  love, 
and  take  it  away  again  when  the  sort  of  objections 


250  THE   GRAFTONS 

that  you  feel  towards  Maurice  are  pointed  out  to  her. 
She's  faced  all  that,  and  it  doesn't  matter  to  her.  She 
sees  a  lot  more  in  him  than  you  can,  or  than  I've  been 
able  to ;  though  I  tell  you  that  there  is  a  lot  in  him, 
and  I'm  quite  ready  to  accept  him.  So  you — and  Dick 
— ought  to  make  the  effort  too." 

They  were  standing  together  before  the  fire,  her  arm 
still  in  his.  Her  face  was  graver,  as  she  said :  "  Caro- 
line is  different  to  me.  That's  quite  true." 

"  I  haven't  meant  anything  I've  said  to  reflect  on 
you." 

"  I  know,  darling.  But  you  wouldn't  treat  it  like 
that  if  it  were  me,  all  the  same.  Well,  of  course 
we  shall  be  as  nice  about  it  as  ever  we  can,  and  if  he 
does  turn  into  something  that  makes  him  more  equal 
to  Caroline  it  will  be  all  the  easier.  It's  quite  beyond 
me  to  think  of  him  as  her  equal  now,  Dad,  so  you 
mustn't  expect  me  to  do  it." 

"  Oh,  well,  don't  show  it ;  that's  all  I  ask,"  he  said. 

The  view  taken  of  the  affair  by  Lady  Grafton, 
whom  he  saw  in  the  course  of  the  week,  was  that  it 
was  his  own  fault  for  burying  Caroline  in  the  country. 
If  he  hadn't  wanted  her  there  whenever  he  went  down 
to  Abington  she  would  have  gone  about  more  and  met 
the  right  sort  of  men. 

"  Oh,  my  dear  Mary ! "  he  said.  "  She  has  been 
meeting  what  you  call  the  right  sort  of  men  all  her 
life.  She  doesn't  want  the  life  she'd  lead  with  them. 
And  as  for  saying  that  I've  kept  her  down  there,  you 
know  that's  ridiculous.  As  a  matter  of  fact  it  has 


MORE   OPINIONS  251 

rather  worried  me  that  she  never  wanted  to  go  any- 
where else,  and  I'd  told  her  so." 

"  I  suppose  she  had  fallen  in  love  with  this  youth, 
and  didn't  want  to  go  away." 

"  Now  you're  talking  more  ridiculously  than  ever. 
I  believe  she  was  as  much  surprised  as  I  was  when 
she  found  out  what  had  happened  to  her." 

"  That  doesn't  sound  very  likely,  George.  You  told 
me  once  that  you  would  know  all  about  it  when  Caro- 
line's time  came ;  and  I  told  you,  I  remember,  that  you 
wouldn't  know  anything  about  it  at  all.  And  that's 
what  has  happened." 

"I  suppose  you  want  to  annoy  me,  Mary.  You  can 
be  the  most  exasperating  of  women,  and  I  wonder 
James  has  put  up  with  you  as  long  as  he  has." 

"  James  knows  when  he's  well  off.  I've  never  given 
him  a  moment's  uneasiness  in  all  my  blameless  life. 
Why  on  earth  can't  you  get  this  put  off,  as  you  did 
with  B?  You  acted  so  wisely  there;  and  see  what  a 
a  reward  you  have  had!  She  has  made  just  the  right 
sort  of  marriage,  and  is  as  happy  as  happy  can  be. 
It's  delightful  to  see  her." 

This  speech  had  the  effect  of  restoring  his  good 
humour.  He  laughed  at  her.  "  That's  pretty  cool, 
after  the  way  you  went  for  me  last  year,  about  B," 
he  said. 

"  You're  very  difficult  to  please.  I  said  you  had  been 
wise,  as  things  have  turned  out.  I  didn't  say  I  thought 
you  so  wise  a  year  ago.  If  you  knew  anything  about  wo- 
men you'd  see  how  great  a  concession  I've  made  in  ac- 


252  THE   GRAFTONS 

knowledging  that  you  were  right,  and  I  was  wrong. 
Now  there's  a  marriage  in  question  much  more  unsatis- 
factory than  that  would  have  been  you  sit  by  and  do 
nothing.  You  can't  possibly  like  it,  and  I  know  quite 
well  why  you're  giving  in.  I  don't  think  you  ought." 

"  Why  do  you  suppose  I  am  giving  in  ?  " 

"  Because  you're  so  weak  with  your  girls  that  you 
daren't  go  against  them.  You're  afraid  they  wouldn't 
be  pleased  with  you." 

He  laughed  again.  "  Illogical  creature !  "  he  said. 
"  B  wasn't  at  all  pleased  with  me,  and  I  stuck  out, 
for  her  sake." 

"  And  made  an  awful  lot  of  fuss  about  it  too.  You're 
afraid  of  the  same  thing  happening  with  Caroline, 
and  you  daren't  face  it.  That's  the  plain  truth  behind 
all  this  talk  of  her  knowing  exactly  what  she  wants, 
and  your  accepting  her  judgment  rather  than  your 
own.  She  knows  exactly  what  she  wants  now  because 
she's  in  love.  A  woman  can't  judge  a  man  when  she's 
in  love  with  him." 

"Perhaps  not;  but  she  can  judge  him  before,  and 
Caroline  has  known  this  particular  man  for  over  a 
year.  So  have  I,  and  I  say  that  there's  a  lot  more  in 
him  than  a  person  like  you  can  take  into  account." 

"  Ah,  now  you're  being  abominably  rude,  which  shows 
that  I've  made  an  impression  on  you.  No  man  can 
stand  being  put  in  the  wrong.  If  you  had  half  the 
pluck  that  you  think  you  have  you'd  risk  Caroline 
behaving  to  you  like  B  did,  and  save  her  from  making 
a  mistake." 


MORE   OPINIONS  253 

"  You  see,  I  don't  think  she  is  making  a  mistake. 
You  don't  know  Caroline  as  well  as  I  do." 

"  I  know  Caroline  very  well.  And  I  know  women  in 
general  much  better  than  you  do." 

"On  the  outside,  perhaps.  But  you're  rather  a  shal- 
low character  yourself,  and  one  wouldn't  expect  you 
to  understand  everything  about  a  girl  like  Caroline. 
You're  also  the  least  little  bit  of  a  snob.  Most  people 
are,  and  it's  nothing  particular  against  you." 

"  It's  no  use  trying  to  make  me  angry,  because  you 
won't  succeed.  If  I  can  stand  being  called  a  snob  I 
can  stand  anything,  and  it  doesn't  make  the  least  im- 
pression on  me.  Besides,  it's  a  ridiculous  charge  in 
this  connection." 

"  You  don't  object  to  young  Bradby  for  anything 
that  he  is  in  himself ;  you  only  object  because  you  don't 
think  he's  a  good  match  for  Caroline." 

"  Quite  so.  But  that's  not  snobbery ;  it's  common 
sense.  However,  I  see  you're  determined  to  have  your 
own  way,  and  I  shan't  say  any  more.  You  have  the 
air  of  being  one  of  the  most  reasonable  men  in  the 
world,  and  you're  really  one  of  the  most  obstinate, 
as  well  as  quite  one  of  the  rudest.  However,  no 
woman  who  didn't  know  you  as  well  as  I  do  would  be 
likely  to  find  that  out,  and  in  a  general  way  your 
manners  are  charming.  Now  you  have  lost  B,  and  are 
going  to  sacrifice  Caroline,  I  think  you  might  do  what 
I  once  advised  you  to,  and  marry  again,  yourself.  It 
would  put  an  end  to  all  this  acute  annoyance  you  show 
so  plainly  when  somebody  else  comes  along  to  interfere 


254  THE   GRAFTONS 

with  the  arrangements  you  have  made  for  a  comfort- 
able family  life  that  shall  centre  round  yourself." 

There  was  a  pause,  and  then  Grafton  threw  his 
head  back  and  roared  with  laughter.  "  That's  in  re- 
turn for  the  accusation  of  snobbery,  I  suppose,"  he 
said. 

Lady  Grafton  laughed  too.  "  I  can  be  just  as  rude 
as  you  can,"  she  said,  "  and  I  can  do  it  much  more 
subtly.  I  wish  you  wouldn't  make  me  laugh,  and  spoil 
everything.  I'm  extremely  annoyed  with  you,  and 
there  are  a  lot  more  offensive  things  I  should  like  to 
say.  However,  I  dare  say  you'll  give  me  another 
chance.  But  seriously,  George,  this  isn't  the  sort  of 
marriage  Caroline  ought  to  make.  I've  seen  the  young 
man,  and  I've  nothing  against  him  in  his  proper  place. 
But  he  is  hopelessly  gauche  and  middle-class.  That's 
bound  to  tell  by  and  bye.  Women  are  supposed  to 
have  no  real  discrimination  about  men,  and  there's 
this  much  truth  in  it  that  they  can  and  do  fall  in  love 
with  men  who  are  beneath  them,  just  as  men  fall  in 
love  with  women  who  are  beneath  them.  But  when 
they've  been  brought  up  like  Caroline  they  simply  can't 
ally  themselves  with  people  not  of  their  own  class. 
Before  many  years  are  up  she'll  be  criticising  him  for 
his  deficiencies.  If  she  does  marry  him  of  course  her 
relations  aren't  going  to  throw  her  over  for  it,  but 
she'll  drop  out  completely.  Some  men  can  learn,  and 
raise  themselves  from  the  class  they  were  born  in,  es- 
pecially if  they  have  clever  wives ;  but  I'm  sure  this 
young  man  isn't  one  of  them.  He'll  keep  her  down  to 


MORE   OPINIONS  255 

what  he  is  himself,  and  really,  George,  it's  a  good  deal 
below  what  Caroline  is,  or  what  she  ought  to  be  given 
over  to." 

"  Well,  Mary,  you've  put  it  sensibly  at  last.  But 
you're  wrong  in  several  particulars,  all  the  same.  If 
it  were  as  simple  and  obvious  as  all  that  I  should  agree 
with  you;  so  would  Caroline,  for  that  matter,  and  she 
wouldn't  want  to  marry  him.  What  you've  missed 
altogether  is  that  the  boy  has  character.  I've  come 
to  see  it  already,  and  he'll  grow  into  something  that 
she  can  be  proud  of.  Another  thing  you've  missed  is 
that  she  really  doesn't  want  to  live  in  the  usual  round. 
She  has  kept  herself  almost  entirely  out  of  it  for  the 
last  eighteen  months,  because  she  likes  her  quiet  coun- 
try life  better.  She'll  have  that  with  him,  and  she'll 
get  more  companionship  in  the  sort  of  things  she  likes 
doing  than  with  a  fellow  like  Francis  Parry,  for  in- 
stance." 

"  Ah,  poor  Francis !  I  don't  know  what  he'll  say 
when  he  hears  about  it.  Fancy  preferring  young  Bradby 
to  a  man  like  that!  Well,  if  Caroline  really  does,  and 
you're  going  to  back  her  up  in  it,  she's  not  quite  what  I 
thought  she  was,  and  I  suppose  I'd  better  let  it  alone." 

"  I  really  think  you  had,  Mary.  If  Caroline  isn't 
quite  what  you  thought  she  was,  I  assure  you  she 
hasn't  deteriorated.  As  far  as  I'm  concerned  there's 
something  in  all  your  jibes,  but  not  as  much  as  you 
think  there  is.  I  do  hate  losing  my  girls.  They've 
been  more  to  me  than  most  daughters  are  to  their 
fathers,  because  I've  only  had  them.  But  because  I 


256  THE   GRAFTONS 

feel  like  that,  I  should  be  all  the  more  careful  not  to 
let  it  affect  my  actions  towards  them.  My  thoughts 
perhaps  I  can't  help  it  affecting.  And  it's  true  that  I 
shrink  from  going  through  with  Caroline  what  I  did 
with  B.  But  that  wouldn't  deter  me  from  standing  out 
if  I  saw  good  reason  to  do  so.  I  don't;  so  I'm  not 
going  to  spoil  things  by  giving  in  grudgingly." 

"  You're  even  going  to  hurry  on  the  marriage,  I 
hear.  And  you're  providing  them  with  a  house — of 
course  at  Abington.  I  don't  object  to  that  though. 
Caroline  won't  lose  everything  that  she's  been  used 
to  having,  and  if  you  get  rather  more  of  her  society 
than  you're  entitled  to,  perhaps  you  deserve  it,  as 
you're  acting  so  nobly." 

Which  left  the  last  word  with  Lady  Grafton. 

Lady  Handsworth  was  not  so  critical.  She  said 
that  she  did  not  understand  it,  but  she  seemed  more 
ready  than  Lady  Grafton  to  agree  that  any  man  whom 
Caroline  loved  must  be  worth  loving.  She  thought  it  a 
pity  that  Grafton  should  not  allow  time  to  work,  as 
he  might  well  have  done  under  all  the  circumstances, 
instead  of  making  it  possible  for  Caroline  to  marry  at 
once  without  giving  her  time  to  think  better  of  it. 
But  Lady  Handsworth  had  never  seen  Maurice,  and 
did  not  regard  him,  as  Lady  Grafton  did,  as  below 
the  point  of  gentility  with  which  Caroline  ought  to  ally 
herself.  So  her  objections  were  not  likely  to  be  so 
strong,  and  Grafton  managed  to  satisfy  her  that  hold- 
ing out  would  not  alter  matters,  and  that  an  early 
marriage  would  make  for  Caroline's  happiness. 


MORE   OPINIONS  257 

Young  George  had  a  *  short  leave '  during  this  week 
and  spent  it  with  his  father.  He  had  no  objections 
to  urge  against  the  marriage.  "  I  like  Maurice,  and 
always  have,"  he  said.  "  I  think  he'll  make  a  jolly 
good  husband  for  Caroline,  Dad,  if  you  help  'em  along 
a  bit.  I  don't  suppose  he'll  ever  make  much  boodle; 
but  as  long  as  they  have  enough  to  get  on  with  I  don't 
think  Caroline  will  mind  that." 

Grafton  was  pleased  to  find  his  son  holding  these 
views.  There  is  nobody  more  critical  of  outward  ap- 
pearance than  an  Eton  boy  of  Young  George's  age, 
and  if  Maurice  had  succeeded  in  impressing  himself 
upon  him  to  this  extent,  it  showed  that  his  departure 
from  recognised  type  was  no  serious  hindrance  to  him. 

"  What  does  the  illustrious  Jimmy  say  about  it?  " 
he  asked. 

"  Jimmy  doesn't  know  Maurice  as  well  as  I  do.  He 
can  only  see  that  he  doesn't  brush  his  hair  well,  and 
all  that  sort  of  thing.  His  people  are  all  right, 
aren't  they,  Dad?  " 

"  Oh,  yes.  One  of  his  brothers  called  on  me  at  the 
Bank  yesterday.  His  hair  was  brushed  all  right,  and 
he  would  have  passed  all  Jimmy's  tests.  I  like  your 
view  much  better,  Bunting.  I  dare  say  I  should  have 
taken  Jimmy's  when  I  was  your  age,  but  as  you  grow 
older  you  learn  to  judge  by  other  standards.  I'm 
glad  you've  begun  to  do  that  already." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  if  it  was  anybody  I  didn't  know 
so  well  as  I  do  Maurice  I  might  not  care  about  it 
much  for  Caroline.  That's  why  I  don't  blame  Jimmy 


258  THE    GRAFTONS 

much,  though  he's  rather  a  swanky  ass  over  that  sort 
of  thing." 

"What  is  it  you  like  particularly  about  Maurice? 
He's  so  much  younger  than  I  am — and  always  seemed 
rather  alarmed  in  my  presence — that  I  hadn't  sized 
him  up  as  well  as  you  seem  to  have  done." 

Young  George  was  flattered  at  having  his  opinion 
asked  in  this  way,  and  thought  a  little  before  answer- 
ing. "  One  of  the  things  I  like  about  him  is  just  that 
he  doesn't  try  to  swank,"  he  said.  "  I  suppose  it 
wouldn't  be  very  difficult  to  make  your  hair  stick  down 
and  buy  the  right  sort  of  ties  and  collars  if  you  wanted 
to.  But  he  doesn't  think  it's  important.  He's  as  keen 
as  mustard  on  making  the  best  of  himself  in  other  ways. 
He  thinks  everybody  has  his  own  line  in  life  if  he  can 
only  find  it.  He's  found  his  all  right,  but  he  did  his 
work  as  well  as  he  knew  how,  as  long  as  he  was  in  that 
beastly  bank.  We've  talked  a  lot  about  that  sort  of 
thing.  I  like  him  as  a  pal  as  well  as  anybody  I  know, 
except  you,  Dad." 

"  Have  you  talked  about  your  own  career  in  life, 
Bunting?  " 

"  We've  talked  a  good  deal  about  school.  He  thinks 
most  fellows  don't  take  their  work  seriously  enough. 
He  did  his,  but  he  says  he  hasn't  got  that  sort  of  brain, 
and  didn't  make  much  of  a  hand  at  it.  But  he  says  it 
makes  all  the  difference  if  you  look  upon  school  work 
as  something  you've  got  responsibility  for,  yourself,  and 
don't  leave  it  all  to  the  beaks,  to  see  that  they  get 
something  out  of  you." 


MORE   OPINIONS  259 

"  Have  you  acted  on  his  advice?  " 

"  Well,  yes,  I  have.  I'm  supposed  to  be  rather  a  sap 
at  school.  But  I  find  it  rather  jolly  to  take  an  intelli- 
gent interest  in  what  I'm  doing.  Saves  a  lot  of  trouble 
with  the  beaks  too." 

"  You  never  told  me  that,  old  boy.  I'm  glad  to  hear 
it." 

"  Well,  I  thought  you  were  keener  on  my  getting 
my  eleven  some  day,  Dad." 

Grafton  laughed.  "  Oh,  we  fathers !  "  he  said.  "  And 
then  they  complain  of  a  public-school  education.  But  I 
like  the  idea  of  your  working  too,  Bunting.  I'm  afraid 
I  had  nobody  to  string  me  up  to  it  when  I  was  at 
school;  but  I've  done  some  work  since,  and  liked  doing 
it  as  well  as  anything.  You'll  find  most  men  who  are 
worth  anything  do.  And  certainly  school  work  is 
interesting  if  you  make  it  so  for  yourself.  Maurice  is 
a  worker,  isn't  he?  That's  something  good  about 
him." 

"  Oh,  yes ;  and  he's  dead  straight  too.  He's  a  chap 
you  can't  help  having  a  respect  for.  Of  course  I  like 
Dick,  awfully.  He's  straight  too,  and  keen  on  his  job. 
But  I  think  there's  even  more  in  Maurice  than  there 
is  in  Dick.  He  wouldn't  have  done  for  B,  but  he'll 
do  all  right  for  Caroline.  He  thinks  all  the  world  of 
her,  too.  I  know  that." 

"  Did  you  see  this  coming,  then,  Bunting?  " 
"  Well,  no,  I  didn't.     I  didn't  think  she  liked  him 
in  that  sort  of  way,  though  she  was  always  jolly  decent 
to  him.    She  seemed  a  lot  older  than  him,  and  of  course 


260  THE   GRAFTONS 

he  is  a  bit  different  from  the  men  she's  made  friends 
with  before.  But  I'm  glad  she's  had  the  sense  to  see 
what  a  good  chap  he  is.  Jimmy  says  she  might  have 
married  anybody,  and  it's  a  come-down  for  her.  But 
I  don't  think  so." 

"  Nor  do  I,  old  son,"  said  Grafton.  "  Nothing  that 
Caroline  could  possibly  do  would  be  a  come-down  for 
her.  She's  one  of  the  people  you  can  always  trust  to  do 
what's  right." 

"  She  gets  it  from  you,  Dad." 

**  No,  old  boy.  She  gets  it  from  somebody  much  bet- 
tei  than  me." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

AFTER  THE  WEDDING 

CAROLINE  was  married  at  the  beginning  of  the  year. 
The  Abbey  was  full  of  guests,  as  for  Beatrix's  wedding, 
but  there  was  no  occasion  to  find  other  rooms  else- 
where; there  had  not  been  such  a  demand  for  invita- 
tions. Caroline  had  wanted  a  very  quiet  wedding.  She 
was  not  going  to  marry  into  a  more  or  less  exalted 
position,  as  Beatrix  had  done,  and  was  going  to  begin, 
and  continue,  her  married  life  in  a  very  modest  way. 
But  her  father  had  wanted  no  difference  made  between 
her  and  Beatrix,  and  she  had  given  way. 

It  must  be  confessed,  however,  that  her  wedding  was 
not  the  bright  success  that  Beatrix's  had  been.  It 
was,  at  the  outset,  one  of  those  social  functions  which 
were  to  be  dropped  out  of  Caroline's  life  altogether. 
Maurice  was  not  calculated  to  shine  in  them,  in  any 
capacity,  least  of  all  as  a  leading  figure.  He  was  as 
well  dressed  as  he  ever  could  be — Worthing  had  seen 
to  that — but  he  did  not  look  at  ease  in  his  wedding  gar- 
ments, and  his  almost  bucolic  air  was  heightened  rather 
than  diminished  by  them.  Also  he  looked  extraordi- 
narily young;  and  a  man  who  depends  on  the  virile 
force  within  him,  and  lacks  most  of  the  graces  of  youth, 
does  not  show  to  any  advantage  until  the  years  have 
passed  over  his  head.  The  contrast  between  him  and 

261 


262  THE   GRAFTONS 

Caroline,  in  the  full  flower  of  her  young  grace  and 
beauty,  was  so  marked  as  scarcely  to  escape  the  notice 
of  the  most  sympathetic,  and  there  were  many  there 
who  were  far  from  being  sympathetic  with  a  marriage 
which  in  their  view  was  nothing  short  of  a  misalliance. 
Nobody  expressed  this  view  to  Grafton,  but  those  who 
held  it  showed  themselves  rather  too  careful  not  to. 
Its  atmosphere  was  all  around  him,  and  he  felt  more 
uncomfortable  and  doubtful  than  at  any  time  since  he 
had  brought  himself  to  consent. 

When  the  bride  and  bridegroom  had  driven  off  he 
was  feeling  so  depressed  that  he  determined  to  escape 
his  duti«s  as  host  for  a  time,  and  slip  out  for  a  walk. 
There  was  nearly  an  hour  of  winter  twilight  left,  and  a 
sharp  frost.  A  fast  walk  would  brace  him  in  mind 
and  body. 

He  went  upstairs  to  change  his  clothes.  He  could 
get  down  by  a  staircase  at  the  other  end  of  the  cor- 
ridor and  escape  from  the  house  without  being  seen, 
except  perhaps  by  some  of  the  servants. 

As  he  slipped  into  a  tweed  suit  and  put  on  a  pair 
of  thick-soled  boots  his  unease  of  mind  deepened.  His 
black  hour  was  upon  him.  Only  at  the  death  of  his 
wife  sixteen  years  before  had  he  felt  the  heavy  weight 
upon  his  mind  that  he  felt  now.  But  for  that  one  big 
grief  he  had  dwelt  in  the  sunshine  of  prosperity, 
pleasure,  the  liking  of  his  friends,  the  love  of  his 
children.  The  upset  of  mind  he  had  endured  over  Bea- 
trix a  year  before  had  been  by  far  the  biggest  that 
had  troubled  him  for  all  those  long  years,  and  that 


AFTER   THE   WEDDING  263 

had  never  brought  him  the  black  cloud  that  was  set- 
tling on  him  now. 

The  marked  difference  in  atmosphere  between  Caro- 
line's wedding  and  Beatrix's  was  not  the  cause  of  his 
mood,  though  it  heightened,  and  perhaps  had  induced 
it.  He  had  tested  and  examined  himself  so  searchingly 
during  the  past  weeks  that  the  plainly-to-be-noticed 
disapproval  of  others  could  not  now  affect  his  own  con- 
viction that  he  had  taken  the  right  course.  All  of 
those  who  had  a  right  to  express  their  opinions  had 
had  their  opportunity  of  expressing  them  directly  to 
him,  and  he  had  answered  them.  And  he  had  satis- 
fied himself,  by  many  signs  and  tokens,  of  Maurice's 
essential  fitness  for  the  great  trust  he  had  reposed 
in  him.  He  already  felt  an  affection  for  the  boy;  that 
was  the  reward  he  had  gained  from  sinking  his  own 
prejudices,  and  making  a  strong  effort  to  see  him 
with  Caroline's  eyes.  It  was  a  big  reward.  It  had 
removed  from  him  all  the  discomfort  of  feeling  that  she 
was  wasting  her  fine  gifts  upon  one  who  could  give  her 
no  adequate  return  for  them.  He  had  come  to  see  that 
she  was  fulfilling  herself  in  this  marriage,  and  that  the 
expression  of  her  true  and  tender  nature  would  flower 
beautifully  under  it,  though  its  flowering  might  be 
hidden  from  the  world  at  large. 

Nor  had  he  had  to  make  the  adjustments  of  his  own 
attitude  that  had  troubled  him  when  Beatrix  had  given 
her  love.  Caroline  had  come  to  be  more  to  him  than 
ever  before,  because  he  had  been  able  to  enter  with  her 
into  the  deeper  places  of  her  heart.  That  reward  he 


264  THE   GRAFTONS 

had  also  gained  from  his  self-suppression.  She  trusted 
him  and  loved  him,  and  had  shown  it  as  she  had  always 
shown  it,  without  once  causing  him  to  feel  that  he  was 
ever  so  little  shouldered  out  of  his  place  in  her  heart. 

And  yet  the  sense  of  irreparable  loss  was  there  in 
this  black  hour,  and  was  growing  deeper  every  moment. 
He  hurried  on  his  changing  so  as  to  get  away  by  him- 
self and  keep  it  at  bay  by  fast  movement;  and,  if  he 
could,  to  fight  it  down  and  regain  his  accustomed 
equanimity. 

It  was  the  sense  of  change  and  passing  in  his  own 
life  that  had  descended  upon  him  so  heavily  as  Caro- 
line had  driven  off  from  her  old  home,  with  her  face 
set  towards  her  new  one.  With  parents  happily  mar- 
ried, where  family  life  is  welded  by  strong  affection 
and  community  of  taste  and  pursuit,  there  comes  this 
sense  of  breaking  up  when  their  children  begin  to 
leave  them.  They  are  no  longer  the  centre  round  which 
their  children's  lives  revolve.  Mothers  feel  it  most 
when  their  boys  go  to  school,  fathers  when  their  daugh- 
ters marry.  But  the  family  life  goes  on ;  though  not 
in  its  fullest  measure.  Grafton's  had  come  to  an  end. 
He  might  have  Barbara  with  him  for  a  time  when  she 
had  finished  her  education.  Young  George  would  only 
occasionally  be  at  home,  for  years  to  come.  Miss 
Waterhouse  would  be  there.  That  was  all  that  would 
remain  of  the  happy  years  in  which  he  had  had  them 
all  around  him. 

Caroline  would  be  near  him,  but  no  longer  in  his 
home,  to  surround  him  with  all  the  devotion  that  had 


AFTER   THE   WEDDING  265 

brought  him  such  solace  since  the  death  of  her  mother. 
He  had  not  known  how  much  he  depended  upon  her 
until  Beatrix's  marriage.  She  had  been  almost  every- 
thing to  him  since,  and  had  kept  him  from  the  sense 
of  loss  that  was  weighing  on  him  now,  when  Beatrix 
had  left  him.  But  it  was  the  loss  of  both  of  them 
that  he  was  feeling,  and  the  end  and  finish  of  the  longest 
and  one  of  the  best  chapters  of  his  life.  What  was 
his  life  to  be  in  the  future?  It  was  that  question  to 
which  he  wanted  to  find  some  sort  of  answer  before  he 
faced  again  the  people  who  had  come  to  celebrate  the 
opening  of  a  new  chapter  for  Caroline,  but  the  close 
of  one  for  him. 

When  he  was  ready  to  leave  his  room  he  paused  be- 
fore the  portrait  of  his  young  wife  hanging  over  the 
mantelpiece.  He  had  never  wanted  her  more  than  he 
did  now,  to  tread  the  downward  slope  with  him. 

As  he  went  along  the  corridor,  the  door  of  a  room 
on  the  other  side  of  it  opened,  and  Ella  Carruthers, 
who  was 'staying  in  the  house,  came  out.  She  also  was 
dressed  in  tweeds  and  walking  boots,  and  as  they 
looked  at  one  another  she  laughed  and  said :  "  I  see 
we  both  want  the  same  thing — to  get  away  for  a  bit 
and  think  about  it." 

His  first  feeling  was  one  of  annoyance.  Caught  like 
that,  he  could  not  suggest  that  he  should  go  his  way 
and  she  hers.  But  he  wanted  no  companionship  in  his 
efforts  to  face  what  he  had  to  face. 

But  when  he  had  said  lightly :  "  We'll  go  for  a  sharp 
walk  together,  but  don't  let  anybody  else  see  us,"  he 


266  THE   GRAFTONS 

became  conscious  that  just  this  companionship  would  be 
good  for  him. 

She  had  been  so  much  with  his  daughters  that  she 
was  almost  like  one  of  his  own  family.  She  was  only 
three  or  four  years  older  than  Caroline.  During  the 
disturbance  of  mind  he  had  undergone  at  the  time  of 
Beatrix's  engagement  to  Lassigny  she  had  given  him 
more  help  than  anybody — more  help  even  than  Caro- 
line, because  she  had  a  wider  knowledge  and  experi- 
ence ;  and  she  had  shown  wisdom  with  Beatrix  too,  who 
had  listened  to  her  when  she  would  have  listened  to  no- 
body else.  If  anybody  could  do  so,  she  would  help 
him  over  his  dark  hour. 

So  they  set  out  together  through  the  park,  making 
for  unfrequented  roads  and  lanes,  and  walking  fast. 

Neither  of  them  spoke  for  some  time.  Then  Ella 
said :  "I'm  afraid  it  hasn't  been  much  of  a  success ;  but 
I  think  you  were  right  all  the  same." 

"  Right  in  what?  "  he  asked.  "  In  having  a  pukka 
wedding?  " 

"  I  didn't  mean  that,  but  I  think  you  were  right 
there,  too.  It  showed,  anyhow,  that  you  weren't 
ashamed  of  it." 

This  was  pretty  plain  speaking.  But  he  had  en- 
couraged that  from  her.  And  she  had  already  dis- 
cussed Maurice  with  him. 

"  It  was  rather  tiresome  to  have  them  all  turning  up 
their  noses  at  him,"  he  said.  "  It  reflected  on  Caroline, 
and  I  felt  it  because  of  that.  For  myself  I  don't  mind 
much.  I  took  my  own  line  long  ago,  and  I've  no  reason 


AFTER   THE    WEDDING  267 

to  regret  it.  If  you've  done  what  you  think  is  right, 
you're  not  much  affected  by  the  opinion  of  other  people, 
especially  when  they  don't  judge  by  your  standards. 
Do  you  think  my  poor  little  Caroline  noticed  it?" 

"  Noticed  the  sort  of  atmosphere  of  disapproval, 
do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  She  can  hardly  have  helped  noticing  it.  Did  she 
mind?" 

"  I  expect  she  would  rather  not  have  had  him  sub- 
jected to  that  test.  It's  the  worst  he'll  ever  have  to 
go  through,  poor  boy.  But  she  would  look  upon  it  in 
the  same  way  as  you  do — only  more  so.  She  would 
know  that  they  couldn't  judge  him  as  she  does.  I  ex- 
pect it  would  make  her  feel  all  the  more  tender  towards 
him.  What  he  is  is  for  her  alone." 

"  Then  I  don't  think  we  need  worry.  And  it's  all 
over  for  her  now.  All  over  for  me,  too.  Ella,  I'm 
feeling  it  damnably.  I  came  out  to  get  myself  straight. 
As  you've  come  with  me  you  must  allow  me  to  be 
purely  egoistic.  I  want  to  go  back  rather  happier  than 
I  came  out.  You  helped  me  before;  I  believe  you  can 
help  me  now." 

"  I'll  try,"  she  said.  "  I  expect  I  know  something 
about  it." 

"  I  don't  think  you  can  know  much,  my  dear.  It 
will  be  a  good  many  years  yet  before  you  have  to  face 
the  fact  that  you're  getting  old." 

She  laughed  lightly.  "  If  that's  what's  the  matter 
with  you,"  she  said,  "  I  can  sweep  the  trouble  away 
altogether.  You've  always  seemed  to  me  about  as 


268  THE    GRAF  TONS 

young  as  any  of  us,  and  you'll  go  on  being  young  till 
you  die.  It  isn't  a  question  of  years.  I  thought  it 
was  the  reaction  of  the  last  few  months." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  it  is.  But  what  do  you  mean 
by  that?" 

"  I  think  you've  behaved  most  awfully  well,"  she 
said.  "  I've  admired  you  very  much  for  it,  and  I'm 
glad  I  can  say  so." 

"  Oh,  you  mean  about  accepting  Maurice.  But 
that's  all  over  long  ago.  It  was  a  bit  difficult  at  first, 
but  it  hasn't  been  difficult  lately.  No,  it  isn't  that, 
except  that  the  late  performance  hasn't  cheered  me  up 
exactly.  I  think  I  should  feel  just  the  same  if  Caroline 
had  married  somebody  that  all  the  world  would  have 
accepted  as  suited  to  her.  It  has  brought  my  life  as 
I've  lived  it  to  an  end.  That's  what's  the  matter  with 
me,  Ella.  I've  got  to  rearrange  it  for  myself,  and  it's 
rather  a  bleak  prospect." 

"  Tell  me  about  it,"  she  said.     "  I  don't  quite  see." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  most  men  of  my  sort,  who  have 
work  that  suits  them,  and  enough  money  to  get  all  the 
pleasures  they  want,  are  more  or  less  content  with 
that  when  they  get  to  my  age,  even  if  their  children 
mean  a  good  deal  to  them.  But  I'm  not.  Family  life 
has  been  the  best  thing  I've  had,  and  I  don't  know 
what  I  shall  do  without  it." 

"  You  haven't  lost  them  all,  have  you?  And  when 
you  come  down  here  you'll  have  Caroline  almost  as 
much  as  before." 

"  Ah,  but  it  won't  be  the  same.     That  came  simply 


AFTER   THE   WEDDING  269 

rushing  over  me  as  she  drove  away.  She's  been  the 
dearest  daughter  to  me.  She's  centred  herself  on  me. 
I  suppose  she's  made  me  selfish.  She's  given  me  all 
that  she  could  of  what  her  mother  would  have  given 
me.  I've  never  valued  her  half  enough.  I  think  I 
loved  B  better  than  her  when  they  were  both  children. 
Not  much  better,  but  perhaps  enough  to  make  her  feel 
the  difference.  That's  rather  a  bad  memory  just  now. 
I  may  have  done  it  in  ways  that  I  haven't  meant  to, 
that  may  have  hurt  her." 

"  I'm  sure  you  needn't  trouble  yourself  about  that, 
dear  Mr.  Grafton,"  she  said,  with  some  earnestness. 
"  She  is  devoted  to  you,  in  a  way  she  couldn't  be  if 
you  hadn't  been  just  as  much  to  her  as  she  has  to  you. 
It  has  been  lovely  to  see  you  together.  And  what 
you've  been  able  to  do  lately  has  cemented  it  all  as 
nothing  else  could  have  done.  I  know  she's  felt  it 
deeply,  because  she's  told  me  so.  She's  full  of  gratitude 
and  love  for  you.  And  I  think  you've  earned  it  all. 
Oh,  please  don't  trouble  yourself  in  that  way.  I'm 
sure  you  needn't." 

"  Well,  perhaps  I  needn't.  There  can't  have  been 
much  wrong,  or  she  wouldn't  have  been  able  to  give 
me  what  she  has.  I  don't  think  it's  that,  either,  that 
is  descending  on  me  now.  Things  are  right  between 
me  and  all  my  children.  I've  only  lost  what  every 
man  must  lose  when  he  gets  to  my  age;  only,  like  Mrs. 
Gummidge,  I  feel  it  more.  They  have  been  my  chosen 
companions.  They've  kept  me  young  between  them. 
It  isn't  only  that  I  love  them.  I've  liked  doing  things 


270  THE   GRAFTONS 

with  them  better  than  with  anybody  else.  I  get  on 
with  other  men  as  well  as  most  people.  Perhaps  before 
the  children  grew  up  I  enjoyed  myself  going  about  and 
amusing  myself  with  my  friends  as  much  as  any  man 
could.  But  for  the  last  few  years,  and  especially 
since  we  came  to  live  here,  I've  liked  being  with  them 
better  than  anybody — I  never  knew  how  much  better 
until  just  now.  When  I've  been  up  in  London  I've 
been  looking  forward  all  the  week  to  getting  down 
here  again.  I  tell  you,  it's  a  bleak  prospect  to  go  back 
to  the  sort  of  life  I  found  pleasant  enough  ten  years 
ago.  I  think  I've  outgrown  it.  It's  just  passing  the 
time.  There's  nothing  left  to  make  it  worth  while." 

She  was  silent  for  a  time,  and  then  said :  "  You 
know,  your  case  and  mine  aren't  so  very  different. 
Until  you  all  came  to  live  here,  and  took  me  in  so  hap- 
pily, I  was  really  only  passing  the  time.  It  has  made 
a  lot  of  difference  to  me  getting  all  the  companionship 
and  affection  I  have  had  here.  I  feel  the  break  up  of 
your  family,  too.  It  has  been  a  delightful  bit  of  life, 
and  I  feel  it  hasn't  lasted  half  long  enough.  Still,  it 
isn't  really  all  over,  though  it  has  altered.  Caroline 
will  be  here,  and  Barbara  by  and  bye.  Beatrix  and 
Bunting,  too,  sometimes ;  and  I  count  for  a  little,  don't 
I,  Mr.  Graf  ton?  You've  let  me  think  myself  almost 
one  of  your  family." 

"  Oh,  my  dear  child,  you've  made  yourself  part  of 
it  as  nobody  else  has.  I  couldn't  talk  like  this  to 
anybody  but  you — not  even  to  the  Dragon,  who  has 
an  indulgent  eye  for  my  weaknesses.  It  is  weak,  I 


AFTER   THE   WEDDING  271 

suppose,  to  grouse  as  I'm  doing.  The  children  are 
Happy,  and  I've  helped  to  make  them  so.  It's  only 
myself  I'm  thinking  of,  and  I  shan't  inflict  my  troubles 
on  anybody  after  this.  You've  caught  me  just  at  the 
time." 

"  I'm  very  glad  I  have,"  she  said.  "  Perhaps  I  can 
do  something  for  you  in  return  for  all  you've  done 
for  me.  One  of  the  last  things  Caroline  said  to  me, 
upstairs,  was,  *  Take  care  of  my  darling  old  Daddy, 
while  I'm  away.'  So  you  see  she  was  thinking  of  you, 
left  alone,  up  to  the  last;  and  she  treats  me  as  one  of 
the  family.  I  know  I  can't  take  her  place,  or  B's; 
but  I  can  do  something  if  you'll  let  me.  You've  been 
awfully  good  to  me.  You've  always  given  me  help 
when  I've  wanted  it,  and  it  hasn't  been  altogether  easy 
to  behave  myself  as  a  responsible  person,  when  I'm  still 
young  enough  to  prefer  to  be  looked  after." 

He  smiled  at  her  kindly.  "  All  women  want  looking 
after,"  he  said.  "  But  you've  shown  yourself  remark- 
ably capable." 

She  smiled  in  return,  rather  ruefully.  "  I  try  to  be," 
she  said.  "  But  I  don't  always  feel  it.  It  has  been  a 
great  comfort  to  know  I  could  apply  to  you  in  my 
difficulties.  You'll  let  me  make  some  return  now,  won't 
you?  Caroline  entrusted  me  to  you,  you  know." 

"  The  dear  child !  Well,  my  dear,  you've  done  me 
good  already.  I  thought  you  would.  Yes,  you've 
made  yourself  one  of  us,  Ella.  It  won't  be  so  desolat- 
ing to  come  down  here,  if  you're  about.  I  shall  be 
brirgirg  people  dov/n,  but  they  won't  make  up  to  me 


272  THE   GRAFTONS 

for  the  loss  of  my  girls.  You  will ;  so  I  shall  hope  to 
see  you  over  here  as  much  as  ever." 

They  reached  the  house  again,  and  went  in  by  the 
same  way.  Barbara  met  them  in  the  upstairs  corri- 
dor. "  Dad,  I've  been  looking  for  you  everywhere," 
she  said.  "  Where  ever  have  you  both  been  ?  " 

"  For  a  little  walk  to  clear  our  brains,"  he  said. 
"  Now  we're  ready  to  take  up  our  duties  again.  What 
do  you  want,  darling?  " 

It  seemed  that  she  wanted  nothing  in  particular. 
She  talked  to  him  for  half  a  minute  outside  his  room, 
and  then  went  downstairs  to  join  the  rest. 

That  evening  Ella  found  herself  in  a  corner  of  the 
Long  Gallery  with  Lady  Grafton,  with  whom  she  had 
made  friends. 

"  You're  looking  very  beautiful  to-night,"  said  her 
ladyship,  with  an  appraising  and  approving  eye  on 
her,  "  and  most  surprisingly  young.  How  old  are  you, 
exactly?  I  should  have  said  about  nineteen." 

"  Thank  you  very  much,"  said  Ella.  "  I'm  twenty- 
five.  Sometimes  I  feel  immeasurably  older,  but  my 
happiest  state  is  when  I  can  think  of  myself  as  still  a 
girl." 

"  Well,  you  look  like  one  to-night ;  as  I  said,  about 
nineteen.  I  can't  think  why  you  haven't  married 
again.  You  must  often  have  thought  of  it." 

She  blushed,  quite  like  a  girl.  She  was  tall  and  slim 
and  upright,  and  had  some  of  the  lithe  grace  of  a 
beautiful  Greek  boy.  She  was  beautiful  in  feature 
and  colouring  too,  though  it  was  not  the  kind  of  beauty 


AFTER   THE   WEDDING  273 

that  is  always  radiantly  apparent,  as  Beatrix's  was. 
But  to-night  she  was  at  her  best,  and  deserved  the 
encomiums  passed  upon  her  by  Lady  Grafton,  who  was 
nothing  if  not  critical. 

"  Nobody  has  wanted  me,"  she  said. 

"  Oh,  come,  my  dear !  Don't  tell  me  that  you've 
been  about  as  much  as  you  have,  and  with  all 
you  have  to  offer,  without  attracting  the  foolish  race 
of  men." 

"  Anyhow,  nobody  has  wanted  me  whom  I  have 
wanted.  My  first  experience  wasn't  a  very  happy  one. 
I  suppose  you  know  that,  and  there's  no  harm  in  say- 
ing so." 

"  Not  a  bit.  But  you're  through  with  it,  and  it 
hasn't  left  much  mark.  None  that  I  can  see,  except 
that  you're  wiser.  You  wouldn't  marry  again  without 
knowing  what  you  were  letting  yourself  in  for.  Men 
are  easy  enough  to  judge  if  you  look  at  them  with 
your  eyes  open.  Of  course  when  you're  once  in  love 
with  them  you  don't.  But  you  can  marry  first  and 
fall  in  love  afterwards.  It  saves  lots  of  bothers  and 
gives  you  something  interesting  to  do  at  the  beginning 
of  married  life,  which  is  apt  to  be  rather  dull." 

Ella  laughed.  "  I  shouldn't  care  to  run  that  risk," 
she  said.  "  One's  freedom  is  worth  something,  after 
all.  I  shouldn't  want  to  marry  anybody  unless  I  loved 
him." 

"  No.  You're  very  young  still.  You've  a  right  to 
look  for  that  sort  of  thing.  But  there's  love  and  love. 
Unless  you  find  yourself  bowled  over  by  a  passion, 


274  THE   GRAFTONS 

which  may  happen  to  anybody  unless  they're  on  the 
lookout — at  least,  I'm  told  so;  it  hasn't  happened  to 
me  yet — I  should  pick  out  a  man  you  like  and  can  trust 
to  look  after  you,  and  make  you  happy.  It's  much 
more  comfortable  in  the  long  run,  and  if  you  manage 
him  properly  you'll  have  all  the  love  that's  good  for 
you,  and  the  sort  that  lasts." 

"  Supposing  he  doesn't  pick  me ! " 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  you  could  make  any  man  pick  you. 
You'd  only  have  to  pay  him  a  little  attention,  and 
flatter  his  vanity.  They're  all  the  same,  when  they 
arrive  at  years  of  indiscretion.  That  sounds  rather 
clever.  I  suppose  you  wouldn't  want  quite  a  young 
man.  I  should  think  you  wouldn't  have  much  diffi- 
culty there  either,  though  they  want  more  careful 
handling;  they're  so  full  of  whims  and  crotchets.  But 
I  shouldn't  recommend  quite  a  young  man.  Five  and 
thirty  to  two  or  three  and  forty  is  the  best  age.  I 
wish  George  was  ten  years  or  so  younger.  Then  you 
might  marry  him,  and  we  should  keep  you  in  the 
family.  He's  the  dearest  old  affectionate  bat-eyed 
creature,  really,  though  I  never  let  him  know  that  I 
think  so." 

"  Why  do  you  call  him  bat-eyed  ?  I  don't  propose 
to  accept  your  invitation,  but  I  love  him  all  the  same; 
and  I  don't  think  he's  bat-eyed." 

"Oh,  my  dear — the  fuss  he's  made  about  his-r girls! 
I've  had  it  all  out  with  him.  He  thinks  he's  been 
actuated  solely  by  the  most  unselfish  desire  for  their 
happiness,  when  all  the  time  he's  just  been  hating  it 


AFTER   THE   WEDDING  275 

because  he  can't  keep  them  forever  circling  round  him- 
self." 

"  I  think  you're  very  unfair.  He  does  love  them 
awfully,  and  of  course  he  hates  losing  them.  But  the 
way  he's  behaved  about  Caroline  shows  that  he  hasn't 
been  thinking  of  what  he  wants  himself.  I  feel  very 
sorry  for  him  now.  He  has  to  begin  all  over  again, 
and  he  isn't  a  bit  like  an  old  man,  who  can  sit  down 
and  wait  for  the  end.  He's  as  young  in  his  mind  and 
in  his  tastes  as  if  he  were  twenty  years  younger." 

"  Yes,  he's  more  of  a  baby  than  most  men  of  his 
age,  and  that's  saying  a  good  deal.  He's  kept  himself 
fit  too.  Oh,  I  don't  deny  that  it  has  been  a  good  thing 
for  him  to  have  his  children  to  play  with.  No  doubt 
it  has  kept  him  out  of  a  lot  of  mischief.  And  I'm  rather 
sorry  for  him  losing  them,  too,  though  I  don't  tell 
him  so.  He's  too  apt  to  be  sorry  for  himself;  and 
after  all,  he's  got  to  put  up  with  it,  like  everybody 
else." 

"  How  unfeeling  you  are !  I'm  not  going  to  hear  my 
dear  Mr.  Grafton  criticised  in  that  way  without  pro- 
testing. If  he  had  really  been  selfish,  as  most  men  are, 
he  would  just  have  gone  on  amusing  himself  and  hardly 
have  missed  the  girls  at  all.  It's  no  discredit  to  him 
that  he  has  been  so  happy  in  his  home  that  he  can't 
bear  it  to  be  broken  up." 

"  I  suppose  he  was  grousing  and  grumbling  about 
that  when  you  went  out  for  a  walk  this  afternoon." 

Ella  wondered  how  she  knew  that  they  had  been 
out  for  a  walk,  but  did  not  ask  her.  "  He  wasn't," 


276  THE   GRAFTONS 

she  said  indignantly.  "  You  say  you  like  him,  and 
you're  always  trying  to  make  him  out  a  poor  weak 
creature  with  no  backbone  at  all.  I  think  he's  a  very 
wise  man,  and  a  good  one  too.  I  love  him  for  loving 
his  family  as  much  as  he  does." 

"  Oh,  well,  my  dear,  if  you  love  him,  I  don't  want 
anything  better.  I  told  him  the  other  day  he  ought 
to  marry  again,  now  the  time  has  come  for  him  to  lose 
his  girls.  He  made  his  first  wife  happy  enough,  and 
he'd  make  you.  He's  no  longer  young,  but  he  isn't 
old  either,  and  won't  be  for  a  long  time  to  come.  He's 
a  husband  you  could  be  proud  of,  and  he'd  never  let 
you  down." 

"  Thanks  for  the  offer.  I'll  wait  till  he  makes  it 
himself,  and  then  I'll  think  about  it.  But  please  don't 
make  mischief,  or  try  to  manage.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
I  think  the  idea  would  rather  shock  him,  and  it  isn't 
one  that  appeals  to  me,  or  I  shouldn't  talk  about  it  as 
I'm  doing  now.  He  has  been  awfully  sweet  to  me,  and 
treated  me  very  much  like  the  rest.  It  has  been  just 
what  I've  wanted,  for  I  was  lonely  till  they  came  here. 
I'm  going  to  keep  it  up,  and  help  him  to  get  over  his 
bad  time — dear  Mr.  Graf  ton!  If  you  go  spreading 
those  ideas  about  you'll  make  it  difficult  for  me.  So 
please  don't." 

"  I  should  be  a  precious  fool  if  I  did,"  said  Lady 
Grafton  enigmatically. 


CHAPTER  XX 

CAROLINE'S  HOME-COMING 

CAROLINE  and  Maurice  went  to  the  South  of  France 
for  their  honeymoon,  and  were  away  a  month.  On 
their  return  they  spent  a  couple  of  days  in  Paris, 
where  Barbara  was  again  installed  for  her  last  three 
months  with  her  *  family.' 

Barbara  had  taken  very  kindly  to  Maurice.  She  had 
cleared  the  ground  by  telling  him  everything  she  could 
think  of  that  she  had  ever  said  about  him  from  the 
first.  "  Now  if  you  can  like  me  after  that,"  she  said, 
"  well  and  good.  We  shall  be  friends  for  life.  If 
not,  say  so  at  once,  and  I  shall  know  what  to  do." 

Maurice  had  replied  that  he  should  have  no  difficulty 
in  liking  her  if  she  would  permit  him,  and  she  had 
forthwith  taken  him  under  her  wing  and  given  him 
several  valuable  hints  on  points  of  behaviour,  from 
which  he  professed  himself  greatly  to  have  profited.  He 
had  given  her  some  in  return,  and  they  were  on  the 
best  of  terms  together. 

She  was  allowed  to  spend  the  days  with  them  while 
they  were  in  Paris.  Caroline  soon  discovered  that  she 
"fras  not  happy,  and  was  longing  to  be  at  home  again. 
She  clung  to  her  side  rather  pathetically,  and  was 
quieter  than  her  wont,  though  her  quietness  was  varied 
by  bursts  of  gaiety.  Caroline  made  an  opportunity 

277 


278  THE   GRAFTONS 

of  being  alone  with  her  soon  after  their  arrival,  and 
then  it  all  came  out.  She  sat  by  her  side  on  a  sofa 
with  her  head  on  her  shoulder. 

"  It's  lovely  to  see  you  so  happy,  darling,"  she  said, 
more  tenderly  than  she  was  wont  to  speak.  "  I  think 
Maurice  is  a  real  dear,  and  you've  improved  him  enor- 
mously already." 

Caroline  laughed.  Barbara  was  allowed  to  say 
these  things.  "  He's  improved  me,"  she  said. 

"  No,  he  couldn't  do  that,  darling,"  said  Barbara 
caressingly.  "  You're  perfect  as  it  is.  How  I  do  wish 
I  was  coming  home  with  you.  I  did  ask  Daddy,  and 
he  wouldn't  let  me.  I  hate  being  kept  here,  and  I've 
learnt  all  the  French  I  want  to  learn.  I'm  perfectly 
miserable  here." 

"  Why,  darling? "  asked  Caroline.  "  You  were 
happy  enough  here  before,  and  it  won't  be  long  now 
before  you're  at  home  for  good." 

"  I  don't  think  I  shall  be  much  wanted  when  I  do 
come  home,"  she  said  forlornly. 

Caroline  protested  warmly  against  this  statement. 
"  You're  the  only  one  of  us  left  at  home  now  to  look 
after  Daddy,"  she  ended.  "  Of  course  I  shall  see 
him  a  lot,  but  I  can't  be  as  much  with  him  as  you 
can." 

Barbara  began  to  cry.  She  was  not  given  to  tears, 
and  hated  to  have  them  commented  upon  when  she  did 
give  way.  She  cried  softly  on  Caroline's  shoulder.  "  I 
thought  Dad  would  want  me  when  you  and  B  had 
gone,"  she  said.  "  I  wanted  to  begin  at  once,  to  be 


CAROLINE'S    HOME-COMING      279 

a  lot  to  him.  Of  course  he  loves  me,  but  he  doesn't 
want  me  as  he  did  you  and  B." 

Caroline  saw  that  there  was  something  behind  this. 
"  Tell  me  about  it,  darling,"  she  said  softly. 

"  I  believe  he'll  marry  Ella,"  she  blurted  out.  "  She 
began  to  worm  herself  in  the  moment  you  had  left. 
And  it's  going  on  now.  That's  what  makes  me  so 
unhappy,  being  away." 

Caroline  was  too  surprised  for  the  moment  to  say 
anything.  An  uneasy  feeling  came  over  her  that  she 
had  been  too  immersed  in  her  own  happiness  to  have 
cared  much  what  was  happening  to  those  others  whom 
she  loved. 

Barbara  went  on.  "  He  writes  to  me  regularly," 
she  said,  "  as  he  has  always  done.  But  his  letters  are 
full  of  her.  She  always  seem  to  be  there,  whenever  he 
comes  down;  or  he  goes  over  to  Surley.  He  stayed 
there  from  Friday  till  Tuesday  last  week,  instead  of 
going  home.  He  says  that  she  has  done  a  lot  to  make 
up  to  him  for  not  having  us.  That's  how  she  does  it, 
I  suppose.  I  never  liked  her  as  much  as  the  rest  of 
you  did,  and  now  she's  showing  what  she  is." 

Caroline  put  this  aside  for  the  time.  Her  mind 
was  working.  "  I  asked  her  to  look  after  Daddy 
when  I  went  away,"  she  said.  "  She  has  written  to  me 
about  him,  and  I've  been  glad.  I  never  thought  what 
you  think,  darling.  She  has  been  almost  like  one  of 
us.  I  don't  think  she  can  possibly  think  of  him  in  that 
way,  or  he  of  her.  There  has  been  nothing  in  the  let- 
ters of  either  of  them  to  show  it." 


280  THE   GRAFTONS 

"  Well,  he  doesn't  want  me,  anyhow,"  said  Barbara, 
"  Perhaps  I'm  jealous,  but  if  there  were  nothing  else  I 
don't  see  why  she  should  put  herself  in  my  place." 

"  Poor  old  pet ! "  said  Caroline,  kissing  her. 
"  Daddy  couldn't  get  you  back  again  directly  after 
you  had  come  over  here,  to  finish  up.  When  you  do 
get  home  you'll  be  just  as  much  to  him  as  B  and  I 
have  been.  You  know  he  loves  you  just  as  much,  but 
we  are  older  and — " 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  grumbling  about  that.  He  has  always 
been  perfectly  sweet  to  me,  and  he  hasn't  realised  that 
I'm  no  longer  a  child,  any  more  than  you  did  up  to  a 
little  time  ago.  But  I  was  so  looking  forward  to  taking 
your  and  B's  place  with  him — I  know  I  couldn't  do  it 
as  well,  but  I  should  have  tried — and  now  she  comes 
in  to  spoil  it  all.  I  hate  her." 

"  Why  do  you  hate  her,  darling?  Why  have  you 
never  liked  her  as  we  have  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  It's  just  that  I  haven't.  Perhaps 
a  little  because  she  has  tried  to  make  me.  I  didn't 
exactly  hold  out,  but  somehow  I  couldn't.  I  suppose 
I  knew  all  the  time  that  this  was  in  her." 

"  Well,  Barbara,  darling,  I  don't  think  it's  as  you 
say ;  but  supposing  it  were !  We  ought  not  to  set  our- 
selves against  it,  ought  we  ?  " 

"  What,  our  own  Daddy !  I  think  it  would  be  hor- 
rible." 

"  Why,  darling?  " 

She  did  not  say  why,  but  repeated  that  it  would  be 
horrible. 


CAROLINE'S    HOME-COMING      281 

Caroline  was  at  a  loss.  "  I  don't  know  why  you 
don't  like  Ella,"  she  said  slowly.  "  You  are  good  at 
judging  of  people,  I  know — better  than  I  am — but  I 
think  that  I  should  have  found  it  out  by  this  time  if 
there  had  been  anything  that  one  ought  not  to  like 
in  her.  I  can't  see  it  if  there  is.  I  think  I  love  her 
next  best  after  the  family.  I  do  love  her." 

"  Would  you  love  her  if  you  thought  she  wanted  to 
marry  Dad  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  think  perhaps  I  should  love  her  all  the  more, 
though  just  at  first  perhaps  I  shouldn't  like  it — I  mean 
I  shouldn't  like  anybody  to  marry  him.  It's  difficult 
to  say,  before  anything  has  happened;  and  I  believe 
you  are  making  a  mistake  too.  But  supposing  she 
did,  it  could  only  be  because  she  really  loved  him.  She 
has  had  plenty  of  offers  of  marriage." 

"  So  she  says." 

"  Oh,  Barbara,  darling !  That's  silly.  She  is  beau- 
tiful, and  clever,  and  nice  too.  Even  if  you  don't 
agree  entirely  with  the  rest  of  us  in  liking  her, 
we  all  do  like  her.  And  I  don't  think  even  you  have 
not  liked  her  really,  though  you  think  now  you 
haven't." 

"  Well,  go  on." 

"  How  am  I  to  go  on  ?  Don't  you  agree  that  she 
wouldn't  marry  him  unless  she  loved  him?  " 

"  Oh,  I  suppose  so ;  but  it  would  be  a  silly  sort  of 
love,  when  he's  so  much  older  than  she  is." 

"Isn't  that  rather  reflecting  on  him?  Women  do 
marry  men  a  lot  older  than  themselves,  and  love  them 


282  THE   GRAFTONS 

devotedly.  I'm  sure  darling  Dad  is  worth  any  woman's 
love.  He's  so  kind,  and  understanding.  And  he's 
very  good-looking  too,  and  not  even  elderly,  as  many 
men  of  his  age  are." 

"  I  can't  imagine  him  falling  in  love,  especially  with 
somebody  like  her,  who  has  been  almost  like  we  have 
to  him." 

"  Well,  that's  what  makes  it  difficult  to  talk  about. 
Perhaps  he  wouldn't.  I  can't  take  it  for  granted  you 
are  right.  One  can  only  look  at  it  in  a  general  sort  of 
way;  and  if  it  did  happen  I  don't  think  there  would  be 
anything  out  of  the  way  in  it — certainly  nothing  hor- 
rible, as  you  say." 

Barbara's  tears  flowed  again.  "  I  suppose  it's  I  who 
am  rather  horrid,"  she  said.  "  I  should  be  if  there 
wasn't  anything  in  it  at  all.  But  I'm  almost  certain 
there  is,  or  I  shouldn't  have  thought  about  it.  Did 
you  know  that  the  moment  you  went  away  she  went 
out  for  a  walk  with  him  ?  " 

"  Yes,  she  told  me  that,  and  that  he  was  feeling 
frightfully  depressed  at  losing  me,  and  she  hoped  she 
had  cheered  him  up.  If  that's  all,  Barbara,  darling, 
I  think  you  are  making  a  great  deal  out  of  a  very 
little.  I  asked  her  to  look  after  him,  myself.  Of  course 
I  didn't  mean  any  more  than  to  be  as  she  always  has 
been." 

"  I  think  you  might  have  asked  me  to  do  that.  I 
wanted  to." 

Caroline  was  stricken  with  compunction.  "  Oh,  dar- 
ling," she  said,  "  I  knew  you  would.  I'd  no  idea  of  her 


CAROLINE'S    HOME-COMING      283 

taking  your  place.  I  know  how  glad  he  will  be  to  have 
you  back.  And  I'm  going  home  now.  I  shall  look 
after  him  myself." 

"  Will  you  write  and  tell  me  what  is  happening?  " 

"  Of  course  I  will.     Everything." 

"If  that  is  happening,  shall  you  try  to  stop  it?" 

"  What  could  I  do  to  stop  it?  "  she  asked,  after  a 
pause. 

"  You  might  remind  Daddy  that  all  his  daughters 
haven't  gone  away  from  him  yet.  And  Caroline,  I 
wish  you'd  just  say  something — from  yourself,  I 
mean — about  me  being  older,  and  that  you  liked  having 
me  to  talk  to  and  tell  things  to,  after  B  was  married. 
You  did,  you  know,  in  the  summer  holidays.  Daddy 
might  see  it  if  you  said  it  about  me — that  I  could  be 
a  lot  to  him,  I  mean,  if  he  wanted  me.  Of  course  you'd 
have  to  do  it  carefully." 

Caroline  promised  to  do  this,  and  left  Barbara  two 
days  later,  somewhat  comforted,  but  still  rebellious  at 
her  exile,  at  this  particular  time. 

She  had  given  Caroline  a  good  deal  to  think  about. 
She  confided  Barbara's  fears  to  Maurice,  who  expressed 
himself  incredulous.  But  on  such  a  subject  as  this  he 
was  not  much  of  a  guide.  His  training  had  not  pre- 
pared him  for  judging  of  a  man  considerably  older 
than  himself,  as  one  who  had  lived  more  in  the  world 
might  have  done.  Grafton  was  Caroline's  father.  He 
could  treat  him  with  respect,  and  with  affection,  but 
hardly  as  having  any  of  the  qualities  of  youth  remain- 
ing in  him.  He  thought  it  very  delightful  that  his 


284  THE   GRAFTONS 

family  should  treat  him  in  the  companionable  way  they 
did,  which  was  different  from  any  way  of  parents  and 
children  of  which  he  had  had  experience;  but  he  was 
still  apt  to  be  surprised  at  certain  manifestations  of 
their  attitude  towards  him.  Caroline  felt  all  the  time 
that  it  was  even  more  difficult  for  him  than  it  was  for 
her  to  envisage  her  father  as  a  man  who  might  still 
desire  for  himself  what  belonged  by  right  to  youth.  It 
was  only  difficult  for  her  because  he  was  her  father. 
She  had  to  think  of  him  from  outside  herself,  and  she 
had  plenty  of  experience  to  guide  her  in  seeing  him  as 
a  man  who  might  legitimately  look  for  a  further  period 
of  happiness  in  marriage,  and  as  quite  capable  of 
gaining  the  love  and  devotion  of  a  woman  much  younger 
than  himself,  and  of  keeping  it. 

"  I  do  want  him  to  be  happy,"  she  said,  "  and  in  his 
own  way.  Of  course  it  would  mean  that  he  would  give 
to  her  a  great  deal  of  what  we  have  all  had,  and  that's 
why  poor  little  Barbara  hates  it  so.  But  after  all  it 
is  just  what  has  happened  with  us — with  B  and  me, 
and  will  happen  by  and  bye  with  Barbara.  He  isn't 
less  to  us  than  he  was,  but  he's  no  longer  everything. 
We  shouldn't  be  less  to  him." 

"  I  think  you  would,"  said  Maurice.  "  It  isn't  quite 
the  same." 

The  idea  still  shocked  him  a  little,  and  for  the  first 
time  he  was  unwilling  to  express  all  his  thoughts  to 
Caroline,  for  they  would  seem  to  reflect  upon  her  father. 
His  simplicity  and  singleness  of  purpose  went  along 
with  some  rigidity  of  mind  and  outlook.  Life  pre- 


CAROLINE'S    HOME-COMING      285 

sented  itself  to  him  in  elementary  forms,  and  his  ideas, 
born  partly  from  his  very  limited  experience,  had  not 
yet  fully  expanded  under  the  influence  of  the  great 
change  that  had  come  to  himself.  It  was  a  man's  right 
course  to  find  his  work  in  the  world  and  to  give  himself 
up  to  it.  All  the  rest  would  be  added  in  due  season, 
and  he  must  not  step  out  of  his  path  to  seek  it  for  him- 
self. He  had  lately  learned  that  work  can  have  a  con- 
secration that  will  lift  it  to  a  still  higher  plane  of 
Tightness;  but  that  discovery  had  only  settled  his  con- 
victions. He  did  not  think  of  Grafton  as  a  man  who 
had  ever  put  his  work  in  its  proper  place.  He  had 
seen  him  only  enjoying  the  fruits  of  it,  and  depending 
upon  those  fruits  for  most  of  his  contentment  in  life. 
He  might  not  acknowledge  it,  even  to  himself,  of  Caro- 
line's father,  and  certainly  he  would  not  have  acknowl- 
edged it  to  her,  but  his  tendency  was  to  regard  a  man 
to  whom  life  came  so  easily  as  it  did  to  Grafton  as  liable 
to  be  weakened  in  fibre.  He  might  take  to  himself  grati- 
fications that  did  not  legitimately  belong  to  him.  In 
some  respects  the  conventions  of  youth  are  more  bind- 
ing than  those  of  age.  Maurice  would  not  have  been 
disturbed  at  the  idea  of  his  father-in-law  married  again, 
to  a  lady  of  ripe  age.  He  could  not  accustom  himself 
to  the  idea  of  his  falling  in  love  at  the  age  of  fifty-one, 
and  hoped  that  Barbara's  fears  would  prove  to  be  un- 
founded. 

They  went  home  by  way  of  Havre  and  Southampton, 
and  reached  Abington  without  going  to  London.  The 
Abbey  was  empty.  Miss  Waterhouse  was  away  visit- 


286  THE    GRAFTONS 

ing,  and  Grafton  was  tied  to  the  Bank  that  week.  He 
was  to  stay  at  Stone  Cottage  over  the  week-end  and 
Caroline  made  the  most  loving  preparations  for  his 
reception. 

Her  happiness,  but  for  the  cloud  brought  by  Bar- 
bara's fears,  which  try  as  she  would  she  could  not  treat 
otherwise  than  as  a  cloud,  was  complete.  The  cottage, 
which  had  been  renovated  for  them  throughout,  was  as 
charming  a  little  house  as  any  newly  married  couple 
could  wish  to  inhabit.  Her  father  had  offered  to  en- 
large it  for  her,  but  she  had  wanted  to  run  it  on  a 
modest  scale,  with  only  one  servant,  and  as  the  wife  of 
a  poor  man  to  do  a  great  deal  in  it  herself.  Electric 
light  had  been  installed,  and  a  sumptuously  fitted  bath- 
room. Otherwise,  except  for  its  new  paint  and  papers, 
it  was  as  Mollie  Pemberton  and  her  mother  had  made 
themselves  happy  in. 

Caroline  had  had  her  way  with  all  the  furnishing 
and  arrangements  of  the  Abbey  when  they  had  come 
to  live  there,  but  her  zest  for  her  very  own  little  house 
was  in  no  way  diminished.  It  was  almost  too  full  of 
wedding  presents,  many  of  which  would  have  been  more 
suitable  for  the  wife  of  a  rich  man  than  of  a  poor  one. 
But  Caroline  had  a  genius  for  making  a  room.  Mollie 
Pemberton  opened  her  eyes  when  she  saw  what  she  had 
done  with  Stone  Cottage. 

Mollie  and  her  husband,  the  Prescotts,  Worthing, 
and  Ella  Carruthers,  all  came  to  see  her  on  the  day 
of  her  arrival,  or  the  day  after,  and  all  helped  her  to 
get  into  order.  She  thought  she  must  know  from 


CAROLINE'S    HOME-COMING      287 

Ella's  manner  if  what  Barbara  dreaded  had  come  to 
pass,  or  was  coming  to  pass.  But  she  could  tell  noth- 
ing. Ella  was  just  the  same  to  her  as  ever,  and 
showed  herself  delighted  and  excited  at  having  her  back. 
She  seemed  to  have  nothing  to  hide,  and  talked  about 
Grafton  with  the  frank  affection  that  she  had  always 
exhibited  towards  him.  If  Caroline  had  not  seen  Bar- 
bara, no  idea  of  any  change  would  have  come  to  her. 

And  yet  she  was  not  sure  that  Barbara  was  not 
right. 

On  the  third  morning  she  went  to  the  Abbey  to  fetch 
some  things  for  her  father,  who  was  coming  down  that 
evening. 

It  was  rather  sad  to  see  it  deserted,  by  all  except  the 
servants.  But  she  did  not  feel  sad  on  her  own  ac- 
count. She  now  stood  outside  it,  and  the  life  it  rep- 
resented. She  went  through  the  large  and  beautiful 
rooms,  so  different  from  those  in  which  her  own  life 
was  to  be  spent,  and  asked  herself  whether  she  would  re- 
gret anything  that  she  had  given  up  to  marry  Maurice. 
She  could  not  find  in  herself  the  least  desire  to  inhabit 
such  a  house  again,  even  with  him.  She  had  immensely 
enjoyed  coming  to  it,  and  dealing  with  it,  but  those 
enjoyments  seemed  now  to  have  belonged  to  a  different 
person.  She  had  taken  naturally  the  good  things  that 
had  come  to  her  through  wealth,  and  found  pleasure 
in  them;  but  she  wanted  them  no  longer.  She  had 
something  much  better.  Her  happiness,  as  she  went 
through  the  house,  and  into  the  gardens,  was  singing 
in  her.  The  house  and  the  gardens  themselves  had 


288  THE   GRAFTONS 

given  her  happiness,  but  it  was  nothing  to  this  new- 
found happiness,  and  they  spoke  to  her  scarcely  at  all 
now  for  herself.  She  was  thinking  all  the  time  of  her 
own  little  house  in  the  village. 

Not  quite  all  the  time.  Her  thoughts  were  much  oc- 
cupied with  her  father.  The  empty  house,  which  for 
some  time  he  would  have  to  inhabit  alone,  or  with  the 
companionship  of  guests  instead  of  that  of  his  children 
who  had  surrounded  him  with  love  and  affection, 
brought  home  to  her  fully  for  the  first  time  what  he  had 
lost.  If  the  light  of  the  house  had  gone  out  for  her, 
it  had  gone  out  for  him  also.  But  she  had  her  home 
and  her  centre  of  love  elsewhere. 

She  thought  of  the  mother  whom  she  had  known  and 
loved  as  a  child,  and  still  loved,  as  she  knew  he  did. 
If  she  had  been  alive  he  would  not  thus  have  come  to 
the  end  of  most  of  what  had  made  his  home  dear  to 
him.  She  wondered  what  it  would  have  felt  like  to 
come  home  from  her  honeymoon  and  find  her  mother 
waiting  for  her.  Her  old  home  would  not  have  lost  so 
much  of  its  meaning  if  she  had  been  there.  But  she 
did  not  think  much  about  herself  except  to  ask  what 
she  could  do  to  make  up  to  her  father  for  his  loss. 

She  thought,  rather  sadly  on  his  behalf,  that  the 
very  perfection  of  their  family  life  must  make  the 
change  worse  for  him.  She  would  be  much  with  him 
when  he  came  down  to  Abington,  but  not  the  constant 
companion  she  had  been  hitherto.  He  had  done  hardly 
anything  there  without  her,  and  she  had  devoted  her- 
self to  him  as  now  she  would  devote  herself  to  her  hus- 


CAROLINE'S    HOME-COMING     289 

band.  She  had  gained  immeasurably,  and  a  great  part 
of  her  gain  was  his  loss.  She  knew  that  she  had  been 
more  to  him  than  any  of  the  others,  and  that  he  had 
come  more  and  more  to  depend  upon  her.  She  had 
loved  him  to  come  to  her  with  any  new  idea  or  discov- 
ery, which  would  have  lost  half  its  value  to  him  unless 
they  had  shared  it.  His  letters  since  her  marriage 
had  been  full  of  little  jokes  and  felicities  to  which  he 
had  wanted  her  response ;  and  she  had  always  given  it, 
but  with  the  knowledge  that  it  was  no  longer  to  him 
that  she  would  take  her  own  little  discoveries  and  ap- 
preciations, and  that  he  might  sooner  or  later,  unless 
she  was  very  careful,  be  saddened  by  the  change  in 
her.  He  would  never  claim  more  than  his  right,  but 
the  change  would  be  there,  of  necessity,  and  the  loss 
to  him. 

Ought  she  not  to  be  glad  if  he  had  found  some  one 
in  whom  his  affections  and  home-loving  desires  could 
centre  themselves  again — some  one  who  would  give  him 
back  the  devotion  that  he  so  richly  deserved.  It  was 
natural  that  poor  little  Barbara  should  think  that  her 
turn  had  come  to  be  his  chosen  companion,  and  resent 
the  intrusion  of  another  into  the  place  she  was  so 
touchingly  anxious  to  fill.  But  Barbara  could  not  be 
expected  to  realise  that  her  part  would  probably  only 
be  played  for  a  few  years  at  the  most,  and  that  when 
she  left  home  the  change  would  fall  upon  him  still 
more  heavily.  And  by  that  time  his  chance  of  winning 
for  himself  what  he  might  want  would  be  less.  Per- 
haps it  would  have  disappeared  altogether.  Caroline 


290  THE   GRAFTONS 

thought  that  her  father  would  not  deliberately  set  him- 
self to  choose  a  wife  with  whom  he  might  be  happy. 
But  if  a  woman  so  beautiful  and  so  suited  to  him  in 
mind  as  Ella  were  to  show  him  now  that  she  loved 
him  well  enough  to  marry  him — surely  his  children  who 
loved  him  should  do  nothing  to  dim  the  happiness  that 
might  be  his ! 

And  yet  she  was  not  quite  happy  about  it. 


(  CHAPTER  XXI 

A  VISIT 

PREPARATIONS  for  her  father's  visit  were  a  serious  af- 
fair with  Caroline,  and  with  Maurice  too,  for  he  saw 
how  much  it  meant  to  her,  and  loved  every  manifes- 
tation of  her  personality. 

At  the  same  time  he  was  a  little  nervous  about  it  all. 
There  seemed  to  him  such  an  immense  difference  be- 
tween the  way  of  living  which  was  natural  to  himself, 
and  that  which  Caroline  took  for  granted,  even  in  this 
modest  home  of  theirs.  All  the  beautiful  furnishing 
and  appointments,  as  perfect  on  their  smaller  scale 
as  those  to  be  found  at  the  Abbey,  he  took  pleasure  in 
as  the  right  setting  for  Caroline,  and  as  giving  her 
pleasure;  but  they  said  nothing  to  him  apart  from 
her,  and  he  found  them  even  a  little  irksome.  They 
marked  the  difference  between  him  and  her,  and,  es- 
pecially in  the  light  of  her  careful  and  loving  prepara- 
tions, between  him  and  her  father. 

Grafton  was  not  a  man  to  whom  creature  comforts 
were  all  in  all.  He  could  have  roughed  it  if  neces- 
sary, even  at  his  age,  as  well  as  Maurice  himself.  But 
it  seemed  to  Maurice  that  he  needed  as  much  atten- 
tion and  cosseting  as  a  woman.  His  bedroom  was  ar- 
ranged so  that  he  should  miss  nothing  of  what  he  was 
accustomed  to — his  personal  belongings  brought  down 

291 


292  THE    GRAFTONS 

from  the  Abbey,  his  bedside  table  furnished  with  care- 
fully shaded  light,  books,  cigarettes,  matches,  ash-tray. 
His  own  servant  was  to  be  in  waiting  for  him  when  he 
came,  to  deal  with  his  clothes,  and  again  in  the  morn- 
ing, when  he  was  to  have  his  tea  at  the  early  hour  he 
affected.  There  were  the  soaps  and  salts  he  liked  in 
the  bathroom,  and  the  bath  sheet  was  to  be  warmed 
and  sent  up  at  exactly  the  right  time.  Meals  were  a 
subject  of  earnest  discussion  between  Caroline  and  her 
maid,  and  immense  care  was  to  be  taken  in  preparing 
them.  He  had  stocked  their  tiny  cellar  himself,  and 
old  Jarvis  was  called  in  to  decide  upon  the  question 
of  wines  and  liqueurs,  Maurice  being  entirely  ignorant 
on  such  subjects.  And  Jarvis  was  to  wait  at  table. 
The  maid,  though  a  treasure,  could  not  do  justice  to  the 
occasion. 

In  as  far  as  all  this  meant  that  Caroline  was  dis- 
playing the  charming  desire  of  a  young  housewife  to 
acquit  herself  well,  and  to  do  honour  to  one  whom  she 
loved,  he  could  sympathise  with  her.  But  he  did  not  see 
that  it  meant  that  almost  entirely,  and  put  a  good  deal 
of  it  down  to  the  exigencies  of  a  rich  man,  which  Caro- 
line had  rather  wasted  herself  hitherto  in  satisfying. 

He  was  in  process  of  adjusting  himself  all  round. 
He  would  not  have  believed  beforehand  that  so  many 
of  the  ways  of  a  large  house  could  have  been  imported 
into  a  small  one,  run  with  one  servant,  as  were  sur- 
rounding him  in  Stone  Cottage.  They  would  not  al- 
ways live  exactly  as  they  were  going  to  live  during  the 
few  days  of  Grafton's  visit.  But  the  life  to  which  they 


A   VISIT  293 

were  already  settling  down  was  far  more  elaborate 
than  any  he  had  ever  lived  before,  even  in  Worthing's 
bachelor  establishment,  which  was  run  on  more  elabo- 
rate lines  than  those  of  his  father's  vicarage. 

Caroline  busied  herself  greatly  about  the  house,  do- 
ing much  of  the  work  in  the  rooms,  and  even  in  the 
kitchen,  herself.  But  that  was  when  he  was  out. 
Whenever  he  saw  her  she  was  no  more  occupied  with 
such  work  than  she  had  been  at  the  Abbey.  She  would 
be  in  her  drawing-room,  having  changed  her  clothes, 
ready  to  give  him  his  tea  when  he  came  home,  and  she 
would  keep  him  bright  company  afterwards.  Then  she 
would  dress  for  dinner,  and  of  course  it  was  taken  for 
granted  that  he  would  dress,  too.  The  little  dinner 
would  be  perfect,  and  the  invaluable  maid  would  serve 
it  in  such  fashion  that  it  was  difficult  to  think  of  her 
as  having  also  cooked  it.  Then  after  their  coffee  they 
ivould  go  into  the  drawing-room,  where  it  seemed 
profanation  for  Maurice  to  smoke  a  pipe.  So,  though 
Caroline  encouraged  him  to  do  so,  he  was  preparing 
himself  to  knock  it  off  altogether,  and  content  himself 
with  a  cigarette  after  dinner  until  later  in  the  evening. 

To  a  man  brought  up  to  this  way  of  living  it  would 
have  been  a  miracle  of  happiness  to  have  had  it  all  so 
cleverly  provided  for  him  by  the  young  wife  who  was 
anxious  that  he  should  miss  nothing  of  what  he  had 
been  used  to.  The  little  parlour,  beautifully  furnished 
as  it  was,  was  not  a  lady's  boudoir,  in  which  a  man 
could  not  feel  himself  at  home.  There  was  a  big  easy 
chair,  books,  and  magazines,  arrangements  for  writ- 


294  THE   GRAFTONS 

ing.  But  though  the  whole  house  and  all  its  arrange- 
ments were  to  Caroline  the  last  word  in  simplicity  and 
economy,  it  was  complicated  luxury  to  him,  of  a  sort 
that  he  could  only  adopt  as  his  ordinary  mode  of  life 
for  her  sake.  It  was  not  he  who  had  gained  it  for  her, 
or  he  might  have  taken  more  pride  in  it.  As  against 
this  it  was  part  of  her,  who  was  so  much  more  deli- 
cately nurtured  than  himself,  and  the  fit  setting  for 
her  delicate  charm,  which  he,  as  much  as  any  of  those 
who  considered  it  ill-allied  with  his  outward  absence 
of  charm  and  delicacy,  thought  of  as  setting  her  above 
him.  So  he  was  happy  in  adapting  himself  to  what 
meant  restraint  and  careful  watchfulness  to  him.  In 
all  essentials  her  desires  were  as  simple  and  unenvious 
as  his.  He  knew  that  if  their  lot  had  been  cast  in  a 
new  country,  where  she  would  have  had  few  or  none 
of  the  refinements  that  she  had  always  lived  with,  she 
would  have  made  nothing  of  doing  without  them,  and 
would  have  worked  for  him  as  he  would  have  worked 
for  her.  She  should  never  guess,  if  he  could  help  it, 
that  this  sophisticated  life  was  uncongenial  to  him. 
He  had  her,  as  his  constant  delight  and  treasure,  and 
what  did  anything  else  matter? 

Caroline  went  to  the  station  alone  to  meet  her  father. 
Maurice  had  work  to  finish  at  the  office,  or  said  he  had. 
He  thought  that  Grafton  would  like  to  have  her  to  him- 
self alone  at  their  first  meeting.  He  was  full  of  these 
little  delicacies  of  mind,  and  of  thoughtfulness  for 
others.  And  her  tenderness  for  her  father  had  awak- 
ened an  echo  of  it  in  himself.  He  had  been  so  generous 


A  VISIT  295 

to  him,  giving  him  this  priceless  gift,  which  he  had  done 
so  little  to  deserve,  and  losing  so  much  in  the  giving 
of  it.  He  was  anxious  to  please  him,  and  efface  himself 
in  doing  so.  There  was  not  much  he  could  do  to  show 
him  gratitude.  But  she  could  do  a  great  deal. 

Only,  if  Grafton  were  preparing  to  transfer  the 
centre  of  his  affections  from  the  hearts  that  had  hith- 
erto held  it,  Maurice  would  not  look  upon  him  with 
quite  the  same  eyes. 

He  thought  about  it  as  he  sat  at  his  table  in  the  office, 
not  very  busy  with  the  work  that  he  had  given  himself 
to  do.  He  could  not  yet  get  used  to  the  idea,  try  as 
he  would.  He  thought  that  it  was  troubling  Caroline, 
though  she  was  preparing  herself  to  welcome  it  if  it 
should  happen.  It  disturbed  him  somewhat  that  there 
was  already  a  subject  upon  which  they  could  not  talk 
together  with  the  freedom  which  it  was  their  joy  to 
use  in  everything.  But  to  express  all  his  thoughts 
would  be  to  criticise  her  father,  and  he  would  not  do 
that.  In  the  sanguine  spirit  of  youth,  he  hoped  that 
this  visit  would  prove  that  the  fear  was  unfounded, 
and  returned  to  his  work. 

In  the  meantime  Caroline,  driving  to  the  station,  was 
wondering  what  Maurice  really  thought  of  it,  for  she 
knew  well  enough  that  he  had  not  told  her  all  his 
thoughts.  He  might  just  as  well  have  done  so,  for  she 
divined  the  course  they  took,  and  was  only  ignorant  of 
the  strength  of  his  antagonism  to  the  idea.  In  this,  as 
in  smaller  matters,  she  had  to  distinguish  between  ideas 
of  his  which  arose  from  his  true  and  right  attitude  to 


296  THE    GRAFTONS 

the  basic  facts  of  life  and  conduct,  and  those  prompted 
by  his  limited  experience.  In  all  essentials  she  re- 
spected his  judgment  as  that  of  no  other  man.  But 
in  some  non-essentials  she  knew  that  her  own  opinion 
was  of  more  value  than  his,  and  that  she  could  influence 
him.  Was  this  question  of  her  father's  marriage  one 
in  which  she  ought  to  take  his  view,  or  be  guided  by 
her  own  wider  experience,  and  influence  him  towards 
hers?  She  was  divided  between  loyalty  to  her  father 
and  loyalty  to  her  husband,  but  for  the  present  she 
no  more  than  he  was  able  to  solve  the  problem.  She 
put  it  from  her  mind,  and  gave  herself  up  to  pleasure 
in  the  prospect  of  seeing  her  father  again. 

But  even  this  pleasure  was  slightly  tinged  with  doubt. 
Two  strands  were  interwoven  in  her  love  for  her  father. 
Of  late  years  he  had  been  so  much  her  preferred  com- 
panion, and  her  position  in  his  household  had  been 
such,  that  there  had  come  about  a  sense  of  equality 
more  than  exists  commonly  between  father  and  daugh- 
ter. It  was  the  spirit  of  companionship  that  in  its 
fullest  measure  she  had  transferred  to  Maurice,  and  its 
transference  had  thrown  into  relief  again  the  filial  rela- 
tionship, which  had  been  strengthened  by  the  quality 
of  the  love  her  father  had  shown  towards  her  over  her 
marriage.  He  had  effaced  himself.  There  had  been  no 
flaw  in  his  tender  paternal  care  for  her  welfare  and  hap- 
piness. Her  grateful  devotion  to  him  was  stronger  than 
ever,  but  it  flowed  towards  his  father-hood  in  a  fuller 
degree  than  of  late  years.  She  recognised  this  change 
in  her  and  thought  that  the  idea  of  his  marriage  to  one 


A   VISIT  297 

who  had  shared  with  her  the  happy  associations  that 
were  not  wholly  filial  would  not  have  perplexed  her  as 
it  did  now  if  it  had  arisen  a  year  before.  She  was  not 
so  far  from  Maurice  in  her  emotions  towards  it  as 
either  of  them  thought. 

But  the  doubts  were  all  swept  away  when  they  met. 
He  was  her  father,  loving  and  overjoyed  to  see  her 
again,  and  apparently  as  excited  at  the  prospect  of 
playing  guest  to  her  hostess  as  she  was. 

She  had  hardly  ever  seen  him  in  higher  spirits  than 
during  their  drive  home  together.  They  laughed  to- 
gether all  the  time,  and  she  felt  the  bond  between  them 
to  be  as  strong  as  ever. 

Her  cup  of  happiness  was  full  when  they  reached 
home  and  his  pleasure  showered  itself  over  her  husband 
as  well  as  herself.  His  greeting  of  Maurice  was  of  the 
warmest,  and  without  an  atom  of  constraint.  She  knew 
that  he  had  had  a  struggle  with  himself  to  accept  him 
for  her  sake,  and  what  valiant  effort  he  had  made  to 
conceal  it.  But  she  felt  now  at  last  that  the  need  of 
effort  on  his  part  no  longer  existed.  Maurice  was  a 
son  to  him,  at  least  as  much  as  Dick  was.  In  fact  he 
showed  more  affection  towards  him  than  he  habitually 
showed  towards  Dick,  putting  his  hand  on  his  shoulder 
as  they  stood  together  for  a  minute  before  the  fire  in 
the  parlour,  and  chaffing  him  and  Caroline  together  as 
two  children  absurdly  but  thrillingly  placed  in  a  po- 
sition of  responsibility. 

When  he  had  been  conducted  to  his  room,  where 
Jarvis  had  made  all  ready  for  him  to  dress  for  dinner, 


298  THE   GRAFTONS 

and  Caroline  had  changed  the  position  of  some  things 
on  his  dressing-table,  and  Maurice  had  poked  the  fire, 
before  withdrawing,  they  smiled  happily  at  one  an- 
other. "  It's  jolly  to  have  him  here,"  said  Maurice. 
"  And  he  is  so  pleased  to  see  you  again." 

"  You  too,  darling,"  said  Caroline.  "  He's  awfully 
sweet  to  both  of  us." 

"  I'm  pleased  enough  to  see  him,"  said  Maurice. 
"  There's  nobody  in  the  world  I'd  rather  have  here. 
He's  awfully  pleased  about  Beatrix  too." 

Grafton  had  told  Caroline  on  their  way  home  that 
Beatrix  was  expecting  a  child,  and  a  letter  from  her 
to  Caroline  had  come  by  the  evening  post.  They  talked 
about  it  at  intervals  during  the  evening.  Caroline 
laughed  at  the  idea  of  his  becoming  a  grandfather,  but 
in  her  slightly  altered  attitude  towards  him  the  rela- 
tionship seemed  more  fitting  to  him  than  it  would  have 
done  before.  There  was  no  doubt  about  his  pleasure 
in  it. 

Ella's  name  was  mentioned,  quite  naturally  by  him. 
"  She's  been  a  great  consolation  to  me  while  you've 
been  away,"  he  said.  "  Sometimes  I  haven't  missed 
you  in  the  least,  darling.  She  has  been  quite  like  one 
of  the  family." 

Would  he  have  said  this  if  he  had  been  thinking  of 
giving  her  the  chief  place  in  the  family?  Maurice 
thought  not,  when  he  and  Caroline  talked  it  all  over 
at  the  end  of  the  evening.  His  own  fears,  he  told  her, 
were  at  an  end.  Her  father  had  allowed  Ella  to  con- 
sole him  for  the  loss  of  his  daughters,  because  she 


A   VISIT  299 

had  been  more  like  them  than  anybody  else.  But  it  was 
them  he  really  wanted.  Now  Caroline  had  come  home 
that  was  plain  enough  to  be  seen. 

Caroline  was  inclined  to  think  as  he  did.  Her 
father's  high  spirits  and  his  obvious  pleasure  in  having 
her  back  had  made  everything  just  perfect,  and  the 
way  that  he  had  taken  Maurice  into  it  all  gave  her 
the  idea  that  he  was  happier  in  her  new  happiness  than 
if  he  had  kept  her  to  himself.  Such  an  attitude  re- 
lieved her  of  the  uneasy  balancing  of  the  claims  of  hus- 
band and  father.  If  his  fatherhood  could  take  them 
both  in  and  sun  itself  in  their  happiness,  so  that  the 
thought  of  them  would  always  be  present  with  him, 
there  would  be  much  to  balance  the  loss  of  her  compan- 
ionship to  him.  He  might  indeed  have  almost  as  much 
of  it  as  before,  since  she  would  always  be  at  Abington 
when  he  was  there ;  and  to  enjoy  it  with  that  of  Maurice 
added,  so  that  what  had  knitted  the  two  of  them  to- 
gether would  now  knit  the  three,  would  be  a  gain  all 
round.  It  would  even  heighten  her  appreciation  of  her 
own  married  happiness,  for  it  would  bring  Maurice 
nearer  to  her  in  the  one  big  thing  in  her  life  that 
would  otherwise  tend,  however  slightly  and  on  the  sur- 
face, to  divide  their  aims. 

She  was  very  happy  when  she  fell  asleep,  and  thought 
of  her  dear  father  lying  under  her  roof,  still  as  near 
to  her  as  he  had  ever  been.  But  when  she  awoke  in 
the  night,  after  realising  with  some  pleasurable  emo- 
tion that  he  was  there,  and  not  going  to  sleep  again 
immediately,  the  doubts  began  to  creep  in. 


300  THEGRAFTONS 

Might  not  these  delightfully  high  spirits,  which  she 
had  attributed  to  his  joy  in  being  with  her  again,  and 
his  pleasure  in  the  thought  of  Beatrix's  child  coming 
— might  they  not  have  sprung  from  another  source 
altogether?  Ella  was  coming  over  to  lunch  that  day, 
and  they  were  to  lunch  with  her  on  Sunday.  If  she 
was  becoming,  or  had  already  become,  the  beloved  ob- 
ject, that  exhilaration  which  had  made  him  seem  as 
young  as  either  of  them  throughout  the  evening  past 
would  be  sufficiently  accounted  for.  She  knew  from 
her  own  experience,  and  from  memories  of  Beatrix, 
how  the  joy  of  loving  and  being  loved  effervesces  in 
sparkling  merriment,  and  sheds  itself  over  those  who 
are  loved  already.  It  saddened  her  a  little  to  think  that 
her  father's  whole-hearted  acceptance  of  Maurice, 
which  had  so  charmed  her  that  evening,  might  after  all 
only  mean  that  she  herself  was  no  longer  of  paramount 
importance  to  him.  His  pleasure  in,  their  society 
would  remain,  but  it  would  not  call  forth  of  itself  that 
demonstration  of  happiness.  It  would  not  be  they  who 
had  caused  the  years  to  fall  off  him. 

She  could  come  to  no  conclusion,  except  that  if  he 
were  in  the  early  stage  of  discovery  that  he  might  still 
love  and  be  loved,  it  would  affect  him  to  just  that  in- 
surgence  of  youthful  spirit  that  he  had  shown  through- 
out the  evening. 

He  was  less  hilarious  in  manner  the  next  morning, 
but  still  cheerfully  content  at  being  where  he  was. 
All  three  of  them  went  down  to  the  Abbey  and  looked 
for  early  flowers  in  the  rock-garden.  Then  Maurice 


A  VISIT  301 

went  off  to  his  work,  and  he  and  Caroline  went  to  see 
the  Prescotts,  and  after  that  he  wrote  a  long  letter  to 
Beatrix  while  she  busied  herself  with  preparations 
for  luncheon. 

Ella  came,  and  there  was  a  revival  of  the  high  spirits ; 
but  all  of  them  shared  in  it.  There  was  nothing  that 
there  had  not  been  scores  of  times  before,  when  she  had 
been  with  them  and  they  had  all  made  merry  together. 
Nothing  to  indicate  either  in  him  or  in  her  that  the  af- 
fectionate terms  they  had  always  been  on  now  hid  some- 
thing deeper.  The  affection  on  either  side  expressed  it- 
self plainly  enough,  and  to  an  outsider  would  certainly 
have  seemed  to  indicate  an  unusual  attraction;  but 
it  was  what  they  had  gradually  come  to.  She  had 
been  given  the  affection  of  the  family,  his  no  less  than 
theirs,  and  returned  it. 

Caroline  wrote  a  long  letter  to  Barbara,  when  he 
had  gone  back  to  London.  "  Really,  darling,  I  think 
you  are  wrong.  She  does  love  him,  just  as  all  of  us  do, 
and  he  is  awfully  sweet  to  her,  as  he  is  to  us.  It  has 
always  been  the  same,  and  we  have  been  glad  of  it.  If 
you  had  not  put  it  into  my  head  that  there  might  be 
something  more,  I  should  only  have  felt  pleased  that 
she  had  been  able  to  console  him  for  us  all  being  away. 
Perhaps  I  haven't  been  quite  certain,  but  I  do  think 
that  if  it  had  been  as  you  think  I  should  have  known  it. 
For  one  thing  I  think  he  would  have  wanted  to  be 
alone  with  her  sometimes,  and  perhaps  she  with  him, 
if  it  were  she  who  wanted  it,  as  you  seemed  to  think. 
But  neither  of  them  ever  showed  any  wish  at  all  to  be 


302  THE   GRAFTONS 

by  themselves,  even  for  a  minute  or  two.  It  was  all 
of  us  being  happy  and  merry  together,  as  it  has  al- 
ways been.  And  what  makes  me  feel  more  than  any- 
thing that  it  can't  be  is  that  darling  Dad  seems  older 
at  the  same  time  that  he  seems  younger.  He  has  been 
simply  adorable  to  Maurice  and  me,  and  Maurice 
loves  him  almost  as  much  as  I  do.  And  he  is  in  a 
heaven  of  delight  about  precious  B,  and  is  going  to 
rush  off  to  her  this  afternoon  the  moment  he  can  get 
away  from  the  Bank.  I  can't  help  thinking  that  if 
he  had  it  in  his  mind  to  begin  all  over  again,  for 
himself,  with  somebody  so  much  younger,  he  wouldn't 
be  quite  so  pleased  at  the  idea  of  being  a 
grandfather. 

"  And  he  was  awfully  sweet  about  you  too,  darling. 
He  made  me  tell  him  everything  about  you,  and  kept 
on  asking  questions  about  you.  He  does  love  you  aw- 
fully, and  it  will  be  splendid  when  you  come  home,  and 
can  look  after  him,  and  make  him  happy,  as  B  and  I 
have  tried  to  do." 

Barbara's  fears  were  not  allayed  by  this  letter. 
"  He  hasn't  said  he  wants  me  home,"  she  remarked  to 
herself.  "  If  he  had,  she'd  have  said  so.  I  should  only 
be  in  the  way." 

Caroline  went  up  to  London  for  a  day's  shopping 
that  week.  She  lunched  with  Lady  Grafton,  and  her 
father  came  to  meet  her,  but  had  to  leave  immediately 
afterwards. 

"  The  dear  man  !  "  said  Lady  Grafton.  "  I've  never 
seen  him  so  pleased  with  himself.  It  has  given  him  a 


A   VISIT  303 

new  lease  of  life.  If  it  weren't  for  his  hair  you  might 
take  him  to  be  about  thirty." 

They  had  been  talking  about  Beatrix,  and  Caroline 
thought  she  referred  to  that.  "  He'll  love  being  a 
grandfather,"  she  said.  "  He'll  be  like  he  was  to  us 
when  we  were  children,  with  B's  baby." 

"  Let's  hope  he'll  have  babies  of  his  own,"  said 
Lady  Grafton  uncompromisingly.  "  Most  men 
wouldn't  care  about  it  at  his  age;  but  he  will.  He'll 
dote  on  them." 

Caroline  was  taken  back.  Those  possibilities  had 
been  absent  from  her  mind,  though  Ella's  name  had 
been  mentioned  more  than  once.  "  What  do  you 
mean  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  you  can't  be  as  blind  as  all  that. 
When  did  you  ever  see  a  man  in  the  state  he's  in  unless 
he  was  in  love,  and  things  were  going  well  with  him?  " 

Caroline  was  silent. 

"  Haven't  you  seen  anything?  "  Lady  Grafton  asked. 

"  You  mean  with  Ella?  " 

"  That  shows  you  have.  You  ought  not  to  be  jealous 
and  selfish  about  it,  you  know.  He  hasn't  been  to 
you.  He  behaved  extraordinarily  well  over  your  mar- 
riage." 

"  I  know  he  did,"  said  Caroline  quickly.  She  wanted 
no  enlightenment  of  her  aunt's  opinions  upon  her 
marriage.  "  I  shouldn't  be  jealous  or  selfish  if  he 
wanted  that  to  make  him  happy.  But  I  don't  think  he 
does." 

"  It's  what  would  make  him  happy,  isn't  it?     She's 


304  THE   GRAFTONS 

a  very  charming  creature,  and  she's  devoted  to  him. 
She'd  give  him  all  the  sort  of  young  brightness  that  he's 
had  from  you,  and  a  lot  more  besides.  I  don't  say  you 
are  selfish.  You  never  have  been.  But  he  isn't  every- 
thing to  you  any  longer,  and  you  can't  be  everything 
to  him,  though  I  know  you'll  be  everything  you  can. 
You  ought  to  be  glad  that  there's  somebody  who  can 
step  in  and  fill  your  place." 

"  Dear  Aunt  Mary,  I  think  I  should  be,  if  I  thought 
it  was  likely  to  happen.  But  you  wouldn't  expect  me 
not  to  feel  just  a  little  sad  that  we  shouldn't  be  every- 
thing to  him  any  longer,  as  you  say." 

This  was  what  Lady  Grafton  wanted.  She  did  not 
like  Caroline's  marriage,  and  if  her  affection  for  her 
niece  prevented  her  saying  so,  she  was  yet  in  the  state 
of  finding  relief  by  being  a  little  hard  on  her. 

"  That's  only  jealousy,"  she  said.  "  And  at  bot- 
tom it's  the  jealousy  of  the  young  towards  those  they 
look  upon  as  elderly.  The  fact  is  that  George  ought 
to  have  married  again  while  he  was  still  a  young  man. 
Almost  any  woman  would  have  been  glad  enough  to 
have  him,  and  with  the  right  sort  of  woman  he'd 
have  been  a  husband  in  a  thousand.  He  was,  as  long 
as  it  lasted.  He  didn't  marry  again  because  he  devoted 
himself  to  all  of  you  instead,  and  as  long  as  that  lasted 
he  had  all  he  wanted,  though  not  as  much  as  he  might 
have  had.  Now  he's  lost  it.  B  hardly  thinks  of  him 
at  all,  except  when  she's  with  him,  and  of  course  he's 
nothing  to  you  beside  your  husband.  I  don't  blame 
you  for  that.  It's  natural  enough,  especially  when 


A   VISIT  305 

you're  first  married.     But  he  loses  it  all  the  same." 
"  I  don't  believe  he  feels  that  he's  lost  it.     Maurice 
is  almost  as  devoted  to  him  as  I  am." 

Lady  Graf  ton  refrained  from  saying:  "  So  he  ought 
to  be,"  and  said  instead :  "  I'm  glad  to  hear  that,"  but 
in  a  tone  that  made  Caroline  regret  that  she  had 
brought  his  name  in.  Of  course  Aunt  Mary  was  in- 
capable of  understanding  what  she  and  Maurice  to- 
gether might  be  to  her  father.  "  I  do  love  him,"  she 
said,  "  as  much  as  ever ;  even  more,  I  think,  because  he's 
been  so  good  to  me.  I  don't  believe  anybody  in  the 
world  loves  their  father  more  than  I  do.  It  doesn't 
make  me  love  him  less  because  I  love  my  husband.  He 
knows  that." 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  we're  not  talking  about  all  that. 
You've  given  him  the  love  of  a  daughter;  so  has  B, 
though  she  hasn't  been  as  careful  about  it  as  you 
have.  It  was  enough  for  him  as  long  as  you  were  all 
with  him.  Now  you  can  no  longer  be  with  him  it  isn't 
good  enough  for  him,  though  no  doubt  it  will  always 
count  for  a  good  deal.  He  wants  the  love  and  atten- 
tion in  his  home,  and  he  has  a  right  to  it  if  he  can  get 
it.  What  you  want  to  do  is  to  keep  him  tied  down  to 
his  position  as  a  father,  and  a  grandfather.  You  can't 
see  that  other  people  may  look  upon  him  in  quite  a 
different  light.  He's  an  unusually  attractive  man,  and 
extraordinarily  well  preserved.  You've  all  had  some- 
thing to  do  with  keeping  him  young,  and  I've  always 
said  so.  It  isn't  every  woman,  or  even  every  girl,  who 
falls  in  love  with  callow  youth." 


306  THE   GRAFTONS 

Caroline  had  something  of  her  father's  equability 
under  attack.  "  I  suppose  that's  a  hit  at  me,"  she 
said  with  a  smile.  "  I  shouldn't  be  surprised,  you  know, 
at  anybody  falling  in  love  with  Dad.  I  know  what  a 
darling  he  is.  But  I'm  not  going  to  take  blame  to  my- 
self for  thinking  of  him  more  as  a  father,  or  even  as 
a  grandfather.  Do  you  think  Ella  loves  him  in  that 
way?  I  know  she  does  love  him.  You've  seen  her, 
haven't  you,  since  I've  been  away  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I've  seen  her.  What  I  think  is  that  they're 
both  of  them  absolutely  ready  for  it.  But  they  might 
be  held  back,  and  a  great  chance  of  happiness  for  both 
of  them  lost,  by  doubts  of  how  you  would  take  it. 
Now  I  shan't  say  any  more.  You'd  better  think  it 
over." 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE  FAMILY  VIEW 

DICK  went  off  on  a  cruise,  and  Beatrix  came  to  stay  at 
Abington.  She  came  for  a  few  days  to  Caroline,  and 
then  moved  down  to  the  Abbey  to  be  with  her  father 
when  he  came  home  at  the  end  of  the  week. 

Caroline  thought  her  more  lovely  than  ever.  She 
was  radiantly  happy  at  the  thought  of  her  child  com- 
ing, but  rather  quieter  than  she  had  been  wont  to  be, 
though  at  times  she  showed  all  her  exuberant  high 
spirits. 

She  and  Maurice  got  on  very  well  together,  but 
Caroline  knew,  and  he  also  probably  knew,  that  she 
did  not  take  much  interest  in  him.  She  was  bright 
and  friendly  with  him  when  he  was  there,  but  when 
he  wasn't  she  seldom  mentioned  him.  But  she  clung 
to  Caroline.  She  had  to  come  to  her,  she  told  her. 
Even  if  Dick  hadn't  been  obliged  to  go  off,  she  would 
have  left  him  and  come.  Or  perhaps  she  would  have 
asked  Caroline  to  come  to  her.  Here  she  laughed. 
"  I'm  more  in  love  with  him  than  ever,"  she  said,  "  and 
I  can't  bear  to  be  parted  from  him.  But  I  want  you 
too,  darling,  awfully.  I  do  miss  you,  and  I  wish  we 
lived  nearer  to  each  other." 

So  she  would  have  flown  to  her  mother  at  this  time. 
Caroline  felt  very  tenderly  towards  her.     She  was  such 

307 


308  THE   GRAFTONS 

a  child,  in  spite  of  her  approaching  motherhood. 
Maurice  was  touched,  too,  by  her  dependence  upon 
Caroline.  Caroline  told  her  some  of  the  things  he  had 
said  about  her,  and  she  said :  "  He's  an  awful  dear, 
Cara,"  and  then  went  on  to  talk  about  Dick. 

They  talked  a  great  deal  also  of  their  father.  Bea- 
trix was  inclined  to  Lady  Grafton's  views,  which  had 
been  imparted  to  her  as  well  as  to  Caroline.  "  The 
idea  was  rather  a  shock  at  first,"  she  said.  "  But 
when  I  came  to  think  it  over  I  thought  it  would  be 
rather  hard  lines  on  the  old  darling  not  to  be  pleased 
about  it,  if  it  happens.  He's  not  so  frightfully  much 
older  than  Dick.  If  Dick  had  been  married  at  eighteen, 
as  one  of  his  shipmates  was,  we  were  reckoning  it  out 
that  he  might  have  a  daughter  of  fourteen  now,  and 
she'd  only  be  two  years  younger  than  Bunting." 

Caroline  laughed.  "  I  don't  quite  see  what  that  has 
to  do  with  it,"  she  said. 

"  Oh,  I  do.  What  I  mean  is  that  because  he's  our 
dear  old  Daddy,  we  don't  think  of  him  as  somebody 
who  ought  to  be  falling  in  love  at  his  time  of  life. 
But  I  don't  see  why  he  shouldn't.  And  he's  a  million 
times  better-looking  than  heaps  of  young  men.  If  he 
were  on  the  stage  lots  of  silly  girls  would  be  in  love 
with  him." 

Caroline  laughed  again.  "  I've  got  over  all  that 
feeling,  if  I  ever  had  it,"  she  said.  "  And  Ella  has 
been  married  before.  She  has  been  like  a  girl  with 
us,  but  she's  older  in  a  great  many  ways.  I  suppose  it 
would  be  suitable  enough." 


THE   FAMILY   VIEW  309 

"  Oh,  I  think  so.  And  it  would  be  more  fun  for  the 
old  darling  to  marry  somebody  he  was  in  love  with, 
than  just  to  marry  again — somebody  like  the  Dragon, 
perhaps — just  because  -we  have  got  married  and  he 
feels  rather  lonely.  Aunt  Mary  says  that  it  isn't  fair 
to  expect  him  just  to  sit  down  by  himself  and  think  of 
us  and  our  babies.  He  has  as  much  life  in  him  as  any- 
body else,  and  he  has  given  us  the  best  part  of  it. 
Now  we've  left  him  he  ought  to  have  a  chance  on 
his  own  account.  I  don't  look  at  it  quite  like  that, 
but—" 

"  I'm  sure  he  doesn't,"  Caroline  interrupted  her. 
"  He  has  been  the  dearest  father  to  us  that  anybody 
could  have  had,  but  we  have  made  him  happy,  too.  It 
isn't  as  if  he  had  sacrificed  himself." 

"  That's  what  I  told  her,  and  she  said  the  sacrifice 
would  begin  now,  if  we  didn't  do  all  we  could  to  help 
this  on.  What  does  Ella  think  about  it,  Cara?  You 
ought  to  have  found  oat  by  this  time.  I'm  not  sure  I 
shan't  ask  her  when  I  see  her." 

"  You  won't  want  to  when  you  do  see  her.  She  is 
just  the  same — towards  him  and  towards  us.  I  think 
she  always  will  be.  That's  why  I  sometimes  think  that 
it  would  be  rather  nice  if  it  did  happen — nice  for  us, 
I  mean,  as  well  as  for  Dad." 

"  That's  what  I  have  come  to  think,  too,  with  Aunt 
Mary  to  assist  me.  What  she  says  is  that  if  there  were 
a  question  of  his  marrying  somebody  of  what  would 
be  called  a  suitable  age  we  should  probably  be  glad  of 
it,  as  we  shouldn't  have  to  bother  ourselves  about  Dad 


310  THE    GRAFTONS 

when  we  simply  wanted  to  be  selfish  with  our  own  homes 
and  husbands." 

"  Yes,  that's  the  sort  of  thing  that  Aunt  Mary  would 
say." 

"  But  what  we  really  object  to  is  his  having  the  sort 
of  happiness  we  have  got  for  ourselves.  Because  he 
wouldn't  get  any  of  it  from  us." 

"  There  is  generally  a  spice  of  truth  in  Aunt  Mary's 
sharp  speeches,  which  is  worth  looking  out  for.  You 
haven't  told  me  what  Dick  says  about  it." 

"  Oh,  Dick  takes  the  man's  point  of  view,  of  course. 
Man  remains  a  lovable  creature  till  he's  about  seventy, 
or  eighty  or  ninety.  A  woman  has  to  leave  off  expect- 
ing to  be  loved  when  she's  about  thirty.  He  says  Dad 
is  as  young  as  anybody,  and  he  can't  see  what  all  the 
fuss  is  about." 

"  I  don't  know  that  there  is  any  fuss.  Except  with 
poor  darling  Barbara.  She  hates  it." 

"  Poor  lamb !  Of  course  she  was  looking  forward  to 
having  her  innings,  with  both  of  us  married." 

"  She  has  never  liked  Ella  as  much  as  we  have." 

"  I  haven't  noticed  much  difference.  Of  course  she's 
jealous  of  her  now.  But  that  would  calm  down.  I 
should  like  Dad  to  have  some  more  children.  He'd  be 
awfully  sweet  to  them.  Fancy!  They'd  be  younger 
than  mine." 

Beatrix  then  went  on  to  talk  about  her  baby  that 
was  coming. 

Barbara  wrote  to  Bunting.  He  was  to  tell  her  what 
he  thought.  She  should  not  object,  she  added,  to  hear 


THE   FAMILY   VIEW  311 

Jimmy's  view  on  the  subject.  Bunting  was  to  tell 
Jimmy  that  she  had  thought  over  all  he  had  said  to 
her,  and  beyond  a  slight  interest  in  a  man  who  gave 
tickets  for  umbrellas  at  the  Luxembourg  Gallery,  which 
she  had  subdued,  she  had  behaved  exactly  as  he  would 
have  wished  since  she  had  been  back  in  Paris. 

Young  George  imparted  this  piece  of  information 
first,  as  he  and  Jimmy  took  a  Sunday  afternoon  walk 
together.  "  She  did  have  you  on,"  he  said.  "  You 
have  to  keep  your  eyes  skinned  when  Barbara  begins  to 
pull  your  leg." 

"  I  can't  say  I  care  for  that  sort  of  thing  much  my- 
self," said  Jimmy.  "  Still,  you  must  take  people  as 
you  find  them.  If  Barbara  finds  it  amusing  to  play  the 
fool  in  that  way,  I  don't  much  mind.  She  is  growing 
up  into  a  very  nice  sort  of  girl  and  one  can  forgive 
her  a  few  antics.  I  say,  George,  I  shall  have  Feltham 
some  day,  and  be  fairly  well  off,  I  suppose.  I  don't 
suppose  your  Governor  would  object,  would  he,  if 
anything  were  to  come  of  it  between  Barbara  and 
me?" 

"Anything  were  to  come  of  what?"  asked  Bunt- 
ing. 

"  Oh,  well,  I  should  have  thought  you  could  have 

seen  that  Barbara  is  a  good  deal  more  to  me  than  other 
girls.  Of  course  I  chaff  her,  and  treat  her  in  some 
ways  as  a  kid,  but — " 

"  I  should  have  thought  that  was  how  she  treated 
you." 

"  Well,  it's  our  way  of  treating  each  other.    I  don*t 


312  THEGRAFTONS 

suppose  she  thinks  of  me  as  a  kid  any  more  than  I  do 
of  her.  I  don't  go  as  far  as  to  say  that  she's  gone  on 
me,  or  anything  of  that  sort.  She's  too  young  at 
present  to  be  gone  on  anybody,  however  much  she  may 
lark  and  rot  about  it.  And  I  haven't  done  anything 
to  make  her  yet.  I'm  only  asking  you,  supposing  it 
took  me  that  way,  and  I  was  serious  about  it,  I  might 
be  the  sort  of  fellow  your  Governor  wouldn't  mind 
Barbara  marrying?  " 

"  I  should  think  he'd  be  half  off  his  head  with  de- 
light," said  Young  George.  "  I  say,  Jimmy,  there's 
something  I  want  to  consult  you  about.  Barbara  has 
written  to  me  about  it,  and  she  says  I  can." 

"  I  shall  be  pleased  to  give  you  my  advice,  George. 
Her,  too,  if  she  wants  it.  How  did  she — er — put  it — 
that  she  wanted  it." 

"  Oh,  she  said:  '  I  don't  mind  your  telling  that  little 
ass,  Jimmy,  and  see  what  he  thinks,'  or  something  of 
that  sort.  She  didn't  mean  anything  by  it." 

"  Oh,  no.  I  don't  mind.  It's  the  way  we  treat 
each  other.  Well,  what's  the  trouble,  old  man  ?  " 

Young  George  told  him. 

"  Ah,"  said  Jimmy  sapiently.  "  I've  been  wondering 
how  long  it  would  be  before  you  tumbled  to  that.  It's 
the  talk  of  the  county." 

"  Do  you  mean  that,  or  is  it  only  swank  because 
you  always  see  everything — generally  before  it  hap- 
pens ?  " 

"  My  dear  chap,  I  can  only  tell  you  your  Governor 
went  out  for  a  walk  with  her  the  moment  after  Caroline 


THE   FAMILY  VIEW  313 

had  gone  away,  and  fixed  it  up  then.  If  you  don't  be- 
lieve me,  ask  him." 

"  Oh,  that's  rot.  Caroline  was  married  over  two 
months  ago.  If  he  had  fixed  it  up  then  we  should  have 
known  about  it  by  this  time." 

"  They  agreed  to  keep  it  to  themselves  for  a  bit. 
You'll  hear  soon  enough." 

"  Did  my  Governor  tell  you  that,  or  Ella  Carruth- 
ers?" 

"  There's  no  need  to  play  the  ass,  George.  Every- 
body knows  it's  settled.  Vera  mentioned  it  in  the  last 
letter  she  wrote  to  me.  Mrs.  Carruthers  has  gone  up 
to  London,  to  be  near  your  Governor.  He's  working 
rather  hard  at  present,  and  can't  be  at  Abington  as 
much  as  he  was." 

Young  George  knew  that  his  father  was  rather  tied 
to  the  Bank,  as  two  of  his  partners  were  away.  Jimmy's 
knowledge  of  this  fact  impressed  him.  "  Is  she  keen  on 
him?  "  he  asked. 

"  Thinks  about  nobody  else." 

"How  can  you  possibly  know  that?  I  wish  you'd 
chuck  pretending  to  be  God  Almighty,  and  just  be 
little  Jimmy  Beckley.  Barbara  wants  to  know  what 
we  think,  and  what's  really  happening." 

"  Well,  she's  come  to  the  right  quarter  then.  I 
haven't  said  anything  before,  because  I  didn't  know 
you'd  tumbled  to  it.  But  I  do  know  more  about  it 
than  most.  There's  a  cousin  of  ours  who  is  dead  keen 
on  her,  and  she  won't  look  at  him." 

"  Who  is  he?  " 


314  THE   GRAFTONS 

"  He's  Sir  John  Ambleside — on  my  mother's  side  of 
the  family.  He's  in  the  Scots  Guards,  and  has  just 
come  back  from  India,  where  he's  been  A.D.C.  to  some 
Governor  fellow.  He  hasn't  got  much  money,  so  of 
course  all  our  lot  are  rather  keen  on  it,  as  she's  sup- 
posed to  have  a  good  deal.  But,  as  I  say,  she  won't 
look  at  him,  because  of  your  Governor." 

"  Is  he  young?  " 

"  About  thirty.  Good-looking  chap  too.  It'd  be 
a  good  match  for  both  of  them.  There'd  be  his  title 
against  her  money.  But  there  it  is.  He  hasn't  got  a 
chance.  I'm  not  sorry  for  it  myself,  as  I've  an  idea 
of  nobbling  him  for  Vera.  She's  getting  on — twenty- 
two  next  birthday,  and  it's  time  she  was  settled.  I'm 
going  to  get  my  people  to  ask  him  down  at  Easter, 
when  I  shall  be  at  home  and  can  look  after  things.  I 
hope  it  will  all  be  settled  with  your  Governor  by  that 
time." 

"  I  don't  think  Barbara  knows  it  has  gone  as  far  as 
that,"  said  Young  George  reflectively.  "  She  only 
says  she  thinks  it  may  happen,  though  Caroline  doesn't. 
She  won't  be  pleased  when  I  tell  her  what  you've  told 
me." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Oh,  well,  I  suppose  she  wouldn't  be.  Now  Caro- 
line and  B  are  married  she  wants  to  be  Number  One 
with  the  Governor." 

"  Poor  little  girl !  "  said  Jimmy  tenderly.  "  I  call 
that  rather  touching,  you  know,  George.  We  ought 
to  try  and  make  it  up  to  her,  if  it  does  happen — not  let 


THE   FAMILY   VIEW  315 

her  feel  herself  out  of  it.     I'm  sure  I'll  do  all  I  can  to 
show  her  that  she's  still  thought  a  great  deal  of." 

"  I'm  sure  you  will,"  said  Young  George.  "  But  you 
won't  find  she'll  want  much  of  you  i{  she  can  have  the 
Governor." 

'  That  sort  of  feeling  changes  when  girls  grow  up," 
said  Jimmy.  "  Their  Governors  don't  stand  much  of 
a  chance  when  the  right  chap  comes  along.  I  will  say 
for  your  Governor,  though,  that  he  knows  how  to  make 
himself  pleasant  to  younger  people,  men  as  well  as 
girls.  There's  nobody  of  his  age  I  like  better  to  have 
a  yarn  with.  I'm  not  a  bit  surprised  at  a  woman  like 
Mrs.  Carruthers  falling  in  love  with  him." 

"  You  think  it  would  be  a  good  thing,  then?  " 

"  A  good  thing?  Of  course  it  would  be  a  good  thing. 
Don't  you  think  so  yourself?  " 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  I  like  her  all  right.  Rather 
rum  to  have  her  as  a  sort  of  mother,  though." 

"  Nobody  thinks  anything  of  that  now-a-days.  She'd 
be  more  like  a  sort  of  sister.  I  must  say  7  shouldn't 
mind  having  her  about  the  place,  if  it  was  me.  She's 
a  very  fine  woman.  I  spotted  her  three  seasons  ago, 
when  she  first  began  to  hunt  again  after  Carruthers 
died.  If  I  hadn't  felt  myself  a  bit  tied  up  with  Kate 
Pemberton  then,  I  think  I  might  have  tried  to  make  my- 
self pleasant  to  her.  Well,  I  always  have  made  myself 
pleasant  to  her.  I  think  she  likes  me  all  right.  If 
she  marries  your  Governor  we  shall  be  pretty  near 
neighbours." 

"  Well,  I  hope  you  won't  try  to  cut  him  out,  if  he 


316  THE    GRAFTONS 

wants  to  marry  her.  I  don't  quite  know  what  to  think 
about  it.  I  shall  tell  Barbara  that  it  would  be  a  good 
thing." 

"  Yes,  I  should,  if  I  were  you.  And  you  can  tell 
her  that  I'm  all  in  favour  of  it,  as  she  has  asked  what 
I  think." 

"  Thanks,  I  will,"  said  Young  George.  "  That  ought 
to  settle  her  mind,  if  anything  can.  I  say,  I  haven't 
told  you.  B's  going  to  have  a  baby." 

"  By  Jove !  "  said  Jimmy.  "  It  seems  no  time  since 
B  was  almost  a  kid.  Makes  you  feel  you're  getting  on, 
that  sort  of  thing,  eh?  Poor  little  girl!  I  suppose 
she's  pleased  enough  about  it  though,  isn't  she?  They 
generally  are." 

"  Oh,  yes,  she's  pleased  enough." 

"  Made  up  her  mind  it's  going  to  be  a  boy,  of 
course." 

"  Well,  she  does  want  it  to  be  a  boy.  How  did 
you  know  that  ?  " 

"  They  always  want  a  boy — so  that  he  shall  be  like 
hubby,  I  suppose.  B  had  it  pretty  bad,  you  know. 
Nobody  could  get  a  word  out  of  her  when  she  was  in 
love  with  Dick.  That  was  a  good  business  all  round, 
George.  You  and  I  can  congratulate  ourselves  on 
that." 

"Why  you  and  I?" 

"  Well,  you  asked  my  advice  about  it,  didn't  you  ? 
I  told  you  what  I  thought.  I  suppose  we  had  some- 
thing to  do  with  bringing  it  off.  I  wish  we'd  looked 
after  Caroline  a  bit  more.  I  don't  like  to  think  of  a 


317 

girl  like  that  married  to  a  chap  like  Bradby.  I  take 
your  word  for  it  that  he's  a  good  chap  in  himself, 
but  Caroline  is  wasted  on  him  all  the  same.  She  might 
have  married  anybody." 

"  She  didn't  want  to  marry  anybody.  She  wanted 
to  marry  him,  and  it  has  turned  out  a  great  success. 
You'll  say  so  yourself  when  you  see  them  together." 

"  Ah,  that's  all  very  well  at  present.  It  hasn't  had 
time  to  wear  off  yet.  It's  done  now  and  can't  be 
helped;  but  you  see  if  she  doesn't  wish  she'd  not  done 
it  in  a  few  years'  time.  There'll  be  B  in  her  jolly 
country  house,  with  all  she  can  want ;  and  Barbara, 
perhaps — well,  I  know  a  pretty  decent  country  house 
that  she  can  have  by  and  bye,  if  she  wants  to.  And 
Caroline — well,  really,  you  know,  it  makes  you  feel 
rather  sick.  Poor  girl!  However,  I  don't  altogether 
blame  her  for  chucking  herself  away,  if  she  was  in 
love.  I'd  do  it  myself.  But  I  dare  say  I  should  live 
to  be  sorry  for  it,  if  I  married  beneath  me." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

AN  ENGAGEMENT 

TOWARDS  the  end  of  June  Caroline  went  to  London  to 
stay  with  Beatrix  for  a  day  or  two.  Beatrix  had  sum- 
moned her.  She  depended  a  good  deal  on  Caroline 
now.  She  had  asked  Maurice  to  come,  too,  but  he 
could  not  leave  his  work. 

The  morning  after  she  had  arrived  Beatrix  came 
into  her  room  with  a  letter.  Dick  had  gone  off  early 
to  his  ship.  "  What  does  this  mean  ?  Surely  it  can't 
be  true ! "  she  said. 

The  letter  was  from  her  father.  They  were  to 
have  dined  with  him  that  evening.  He  was  going  off 
to  Spain,  on  banking  business,  that  day.  He  expected 
to  be  in  Madrid  and  Barcelona  about  a  week,  and  on 
his  way  back  he  should  take  Barbara  to  Switzerland 
for  a  fortnight  or  so,  and  then  bring  her  home.  Bea- 
trix was  to  tell  Caroline,  and  he  would  write  to  them 
from  abroad.  No  time  for  more  now,  as  he  was  go- 
ing off  in  such  a  hurry.  Then  came  a  postcript. 
"  Have  you  heard  of  Ella's  engagement  ?  Sir  John 
Ambleside.  He's  a  nice  fellow,  and  just  the  right  age 
for  her.  Write  and  congratulate  her." 

They  stared  at  one  another,  utterly  surprised.  It 
was  four  months  now  since  Caroline  had  come  home,  and 
the  idea  of  a  marriage  between  their  father  and  Ella 

318 


AN   ENGAGEMENT  319 

had  been  discussed  between  them.  Since  then  they 
had  come  to  take  it  quite  for  granted.  Ella  had  been 
in  London  ever  since,  except  for  two  week-end  visits 
to  Surley,  and  one  to  Abington,  when  there  had  been 
so  large  a  party  of  relations  and  friends  that  it  had 
seemed  as  if  the  occasion  would  be  chosen  to  make  an 
announcement.  That  was  a  month  ago,  at  Whitsun- 
tide. Neither  of  them  had  seen  Ella  since,  and  their 
father  had  only  once  been  down  to  Abington. 

"  Sir  John  Ambleside,"  said  Caroline.  "  That's  the 
Beckleys'  cousin,  that  Jimmy  told  Bunting  about. 
But—" 

"  Poor  old  Daddy.  He's  running  away,"  said  Bea- 
trix. "  But  how  beastly  of  her ! " 

They  tried  to  adjust  their  recollections.  They  had 
taken  it  for  granted.  Had  they  had  reason,  or  had 
had  they  been  mistaken  all  the  time? 

"  Of  course,  she's  never  given  a  hint,"  said  Caro- 
line. 

"  Oh,  my  dear !  You  saw  how  she  was  with  him  at 
Whitsuntide." 

"  Not  really  very  different  from  what  she  has  al- 
ways been.  Perhaps  gayer,  and  rather  more  at  home. 
At  least  we  thought  so." 

"  I'm  sure  the  poor  old  darling  was  in  love  with 
her.  He  was  as  happy  as  a  king  all  that  time.  7  know 
the  signs." 

"  But  nothing  happened.  Surely,  if  it  had  been  as 
we  thought  they  would  have  got  engaged  then,  or  be- 
fore." 


320  THE    GRAFTONS 

"  Perhaps  he  was  waiting  until  he  was  quite  certain, 
and  this  has  happened  since — her  falling  in  love  with 
that  other  man.  /  shan't  congratulate  her.  I  think 
she  has  behaved  very  badly.  Poor  old  Daddy!  It's 
frightfully  rough  luck  on  him." 

"  He  doesn't  want  anything  said  about  it,  though. 
I  wish  he  hadn't  gone  away  alone.  I'm  glad  he's  going 
to  take  Barbara  away  when  he  comes  back." 

"  I  wish  I  knew  exactly  what  had  happened." 

"  Perhaps  Aunt  Mary  will  have  heard  something. 
We  shall  see  her  to-day.  She  will  certainly  have  some- 
thing to  say  about  it." 

They  lunched  with  Lady  Grafton,  and  she  had  a 
good  deal  to  say  about  it.  The  announcement  of  the 
engagement  had  appeared  in  the  *  Morning  Post '  that 
morning,  and  had  taken  her  by  surprise,  though  she 
would  not  admit  quite  how  much  it  had  taken  her  by 
surprise. 

"  He's  been  dancing  after  her,"  she  said ;  "  but  no- 
body thought  she  would  accept  him.  You  know  I 
blame  you  two  girls  more  than  anybody." 

"  Of  course  you  do,  darling,"  said  Beatrix.  "  But 
we  should  like  to  know  why,  all  the  same." 

"  You've  stuck  up  your  noses  at  it.  Poor  dear 
George,  like  most  men  of  his  age  who  are  in  love,  is 
sensitive  to  ridicule.  He  never  could  bring  himself  up 
to  the  point  of  proposing  because  he  was  afraid  that 
he'd  look  like  a  fool.  That  party  at  the  Abbey  was 
the  greatest  possible  mistake.  I  said  so  at  the  time." 

"Who  did  you  say  it  to,  darling?  "  asked  Beatrix. 


AN   ENGAGEMENT  321 

"  You  told  me  that  it  was  the  very  thing  to  bring  it  on. 
But  I  suppose  you  thought  I  was  in  a  delicate  state 
and  must  be  humoured." 

"  Yes,  it's  all  very  well  to  treat  it  like  that,"  said 
Lady  Grafton.  "  But  if  it  hadn't  been  for  you  it 
would  certainly  have  been  brought  to  a  point  then. 
They  were  both  ready  for  it,  and  Ella  Carruthers 
knew  perfectly  well  that  she  had  been  asked  down  there 
to  be  proposed  to.  It  was  you  and  Caroline  who 
stopped  it,  and  I'm  exceedingly  annoyed  with  you, 
though  I  try  not  to  show  it." 

"  You  don't  try  very  hard,  dear,"  said  Caroline. 
"  We  expected  it,  too,  and  if  we  weren't  quite  ready 
for  it  at  first  we  had  got  quite  used  to  it  by  that  time." 

"  We  both  showed  it,  too,"  said  Beatrix.  "  We 
were  as  sweet  to  Ella  as  only  we  know  how  to  be;  and 
we  took  a  great  deal  of  pains  to  show  darling  Daddy 
that  we  were  pleased  with  him.  He  knew  that  we  knew 
all  right,  and  were  only  waiting." 

"  Yes,  and  how  did  you  show  it?  By  hanging  round 
him  the  whole  time,  and  petting  him  as  if  you  were 
children,  instead  of — " 

"  Instead  of  great  girls  of  twenty-one  and  twenty- 
two,"  suggested  Beatrix.  "  That's  how  we  always 
have  treated  him,  and  always  shall." 

"  Two  married  women,"  proceeded  Lady  Grafton. 

"  And  one  of  them  soon  to  become  a  mother,"  added 
Beatrix. 

"  Nobody  was  ever  allowed  to  forget  that,"  retorted 
Lady  Grafton.  "  It  was  crammed  down  Ella's  throat 


322  THE   GRAFTONS 

that  she  would  be  a  step-grandmamma,  and  George 
could  never  move  anywhere  without  you  flopping 
about  him  and  calling  him  '  Daddy  darling.'  There 
wasn't  much  *  Daddy  darling '  when  you  fell  fatu- 
ously in  love,  and  treated  him  as  if  he  counted  for  about 
as  much  as  old  Jarvis.  Then  there  was  Caroline — " 

"  Oh,  it's  my  turn  now,"  said  Caroline. 

"  Yes,  you  were  almost  as  bad.  You've  left  his 
house,  but  you  come  up  every  day  to  see  that  his  sheets 
are  properly  aired,  and  send  out  in  the  middle  of  din- 
ner to  see  whether  his  hot  water  bottle  is  filled." 

«Oh,  Aunt  Mary!" 

"  Well,  that's  the  impression  you  give  everybody. 
You  made  him  look  like  an  elderly  man,  when  if  you'd 
let  him  alone  he'd  have  seemed  quite  like  a  young  one. 
How  would  you  have  liked  it  yourselves,  if  you'd  been 
in  Ella's  place?  She's  only  a  year  or  two  older  than 
you.  Probably  what  put  her  off  was  that  she  was 
afraid  you'd  be  calling  her  *  Mummy  darling ! ' 

"  Oh,  it  was  she  that  was  put  off ! "  said  Caroline. 
"  You  said  at  first  that  it  was  Dad,  because  we  turned 
up  our  noses  at  it." 

"  I've  no  patience  with  you,"  concluded  Lady  Graf- 
ton,  ignoring  this. 

"  No,  you  don't  seem  to  have  much,  darling,"  said 
Beatrix  sweetly.  "  You're  all  wrong  though.  Caro- 
line and  I  have  been  talking  it  over.  We  think  that  she 
was  almost  ready  to  marry  him  then.  She  behaved  to 
us  as  if  she  were.  We  can't  tell  you  how,  but  we  both 
felt  the  same  about  it.  She  wanted  to  know  how  we 


AN   ENGAGEMENT  323 

should  take  it,  and  we  let  her  know  that  we  should  be 
pleased.  We  understood  each  other  perfectly,  though 
not  a  word  was  said  directly." 

"  I  wish  I'd  said  a  word,  directly.  It  only  wanted 
that.  One  is  afraid  of  interfering,  and  then  one  wakes 
up  to  find  everything  has  gone  wrong." 

"  If  only  you'd  interfered  with  us  all  a  little  more, 
darling,  how  much  happier  we  should  have  been,"  said 
Beatrix.  "  What  Caroline  and  I  think  is  that  she 
never  could  quite  make  up  her  mind,  and  he  wouldn't 
say  anything  till  he  saw  that  she  had." 

"  That's  how  it's  supposed  to  have  happened  with 
you,  isn't  it?  It  isn't  every  man  who  expects  the 
woman  he's  in  love  with  to  fall  down  and  cuddle  his 
boots." 

"  Don't  be  tart,  darling.  It  doesn't  suit  you,  really, 
though  you  think  it  does." 

"  She  found  out  after  all  that  she  wanted  somebody 
younger,"  said  Caroline. 

"  Yes,  that's  what  you'd  think.  The  truth  of  it  is 
you've  both  been  scratching  each  other's  backs.  '  Of 
course  he'd  want  what  Dick  wanted  in  you,  darling,' 
and  '  Of  course  she'd  want  somebody  more  like  Mau- 
rice, dearie.'  To  any  sensible  woman  George  is  worth 
Dick  and  Maurice  put  together.  Well,  I  don't  know 
what  has  happened.  I  think  she  would  have  had  him 
a  month  ago,  if  he'd  asked  her.  I've  hardly  seen  her 
since.  At  any  rate,  it's  all  over.  George  won't  marry 
now.  This  was  the  only  chance.  He  wouldn't  marry 
for  the  sake  of  marrying,  and  he  wouldn't  go  about 


324  THE   GRAFTONS 

looking  for  somebody  to  fall  in  love  with.  You've 
stopped  his  doing  either,  till  it's  too  late.  But  with 
somebody  provided  for  him,  so  to  speak,  who  would 
just  suit  him,  and  could  make  him  fall  in  love  with  her 
into  the  bargain — it  would  have  been  simply  ideal.  Now 
the  poor  man  has  got  to  fly  off  and  forget  all  about  it. 
Of  course  he  won't  forget  all  about  it  for  a  long 
time.  He'll  feel  himself  old  all  of  a  sudden,  and  know 
that  he'll  have  to  go  on  getting  older  for  the  rest  of 
his  life.  I'm  furious  about  it." 

Caroline  and  Beatrix  went  on  to  see  Lady  Hands- 
worth.  They  agreed  on  the  way  there  that  Aunt  Mary 
was  really  rather  sweet  about  their  father,  though  she 
always  tried  to  be  too  clever.  It  was  hard  lines  on  the 
poor  old  darling,  and  they  would  have  to  do  their  best 
to  prevent  him  feeling  he  was  getting  old.  It  seemed 
that  he  actually  had  run  away.  Uncle  James  had 
said  that  somebody  from  the  Bank  was  to  have  been 
sent  to  Spain  in  a  day  or  two,  but  that  he  had  sud- 
denly announced  his  intention  of  going  himself,  imme- 
diately. He  had  said  nothing  about  the  engage- 
ment, but  he  must  have  known  of  it  when  he  made 
his  decision,  as  he  had  written  to  Beatrix  that  after- 
noon. 

Lady  Handsworth  was  concerned  about  the  news. 
"  I  did  hope  that  she  would  have  married  your  father," 
she  said.  "  But  I  never  felt  quite  so  sure  about  it  as 
Mary,  and  others,  have.  I  think  she  could  never  quite 
make  up  her  mind.  Sir  John  Ambleside  has  been 
rather  determined  in  his  wooing,  and  I  suppose  it  cam« 


AN    ENGAGEMENT  325 

to  a  point  where  George  held  back,  not  liking  to  put 
himself  into  rivalry  with  a  much  younger  man." 

"  I  think  that's  much  the  most  likely  thing  to 
have  happened,"  said  Caroline.  **  But  he  did  love 
her,  I'm  pretty  sure,  and  I'm  most  awfully  sorry  for 
him." 

"  So  am  I,"  said  Lady  Handsworth.  "  But  he  will 
get  over  it,  perhaps  sooner  than  one  might  think.  A 
man  of  his  age  never  lets  himself  quite  go,  unless  he's 
absolutely  sure.  He  knows,  for  one  thing,  that  life  isn't 
all  made  up  of  love,  and  if  he  has  had  a  blow  he  can 
look  forward  to  the  time  when  he  will  have  left  off 
feeling  it.  Besides,  your  father  hasn't  lost  the  love 
that  he  has  always  had,  and  that  has  been  enough  for 
him  hitherto." 

This  was  more  consoling  than  Lady  Grafton's  state- 
ment that  it  was  all  their  fault.  Of  course  he  hadn't 
lost  their  love;  it  was  stronger  than  ever,  because  he 
would  depend  upon  them  more  than  if  Ella  had  gone 
to  him  to  fill  their  place. 

"  I'm  afraid  I  was  rather  selfish  when  I  found  out 
how  much  I  loved  Dick,"  Beatrix  said,  when  they  had 
left  Lady  Handsworth.  "  Dick  says  I  was,  himself, 
and  that  if  I  had  made  a  little  more  fuss  with  Daddy 
he  wouldn't  have  wanted  to  go  off  loving  somebody 
else.  I  loved  him  just  the  same,  but  I  suppose  I  didn't 
think  enough  that  he'd  want  me  to  show  it.  Still,  you 
haven't  been  like  that.  You're  more  thoughtful  than  I 
am,  dearest.  I  don't  think  it  would  have  made  much 
difference.  I  think  Aunt  Mary  was  right  there.  It 


326  THE    GRAFTONS 

was  Ella  making  up  to  him  that  led  him  on — even  if 
she  didn't  mean  to  lead  him  on  so  far." 

"  I  shall  write  to  her,"  said  Caroline.  "  He  asks  us 
to.  He  won't  want  us  not  to  be  friends ;  and  I  suppose 
she  will  still  be  living  at  Surley  sometimes." 

Both  of  them  wrote.  Ella's  answers  were  affection- 
ate, but  it  seemed  to  them  a  little  shame-faced.  She 
said  very  little  to  them  about  the  man  she  was  going 
to  marry,  though  it  would  have  been  natural  for  her 
to  expatiate  upon  him  to  such  intimate  friends.  Her 
only  reference  to  Grafton  was  in  her  letter  to  Caro- 
line, in  which  she  said :  "  I  told  dear  Mr.  Grafton  before 
anybody,  and  he  was  so  sweet  about  it,  and  has  prom- 
ised me  a  very  handsome  wedding  present." 

Caroline  had  a  letter  from  Barbara  after  she  went 
home.  Barbara  was  in  a  heaven  of  delight.  She  had 
seen  her  father  on  his  way  through  Paris,  and  was  pre- 
paring to  go  off  with  him  on  his  way  back. 

"  How  silly  I  was  to  bother  myself  and  all  of  you 
about  Ella,"  she  wrote.  "  Dad  told  me  she  was  going 
to  be  married  to  that  little  ass  Jimmy's  cousin.  Dad 
was  quite  pleased  about  it.  He  was  awfully  sweet  to 
me,  and  says  he  is  longing  to  have  me  at  home  to  look 
after  him.  It  will  be  spiffing  fun  going  to  Switzerland 
together.  The  darling  old  thing  wants  a  holiday.  He 
says  he's  been  working  rather  hard  at  the  Bank,  and 
he  certainly  looks  rather  run  down.  I  shall  take  the 
utmost  possible  care  of  him.  He  bought  me  a  hat  in 
the  Rue  de  la  Paix.  Ser-wish !  " 


CHAPTER  XXIV 
BARBARA 

BARBARA  and  her  father  left  Paris  one  evening  and  ar- 
rived at  Montreux  the  next  morning.  In  the  afternoon 
they  climbed  up  by  the  electric  train  to  Chateau  d'Oex, 
where  they  had  spent  a  happy  fortnight  five  winters 
before,  skating  and  ski-ing  and  lugeing.  Barbara  had 
been  given  the  choice  of  a  place  to  go  to,  and  had 
chosen  this.  She  wanted  to  see  the  mountain  pastures, 
which  they  had  known  only  under  snow,  in  their  early 
summer  dress.  Grafton  did  not  want  to  travel  about. 
They  were  to  stay  wherever  they  went  to,  and  perhaps 
visit  a  few  other  places  on  their  homeward  way. 

The  next  day  Barbara  wrote  to  Caroline. 

"  Here  we  are,  in  the  same  old  rooms,  with  the  same 
jolly  old  view,  but  you've  no  idea  of  the  difference. 
There  is  still  snow  on  the  Gummfluh  and  the  Riibli,  but 
only  in  the  clefts  and  hollows,  and  all  the  rest  is  the 
most  lovely  pinks  and  purples  and  yellows  and  heavenly 
green.  All  the  fields  are  simply  full  of  flowers,  growing 
with  the  hay.  They  say  that  a  month  ago  they  were 
white  with  narcissus,  but  they  couldn't  have  been  more 
beautiful  than  they  are  now,  with  all  their  colours. 
Dad  and  I  had  a  walk  this  morning  across  the  valley 
to  where  we  used  to  ski.  It  was  like  walking  through  a 
garden,  and  the  river  looks  topping,  all  free  of  ice,  and 

327 


328  THE    GRAFTONS 

flowing  between  the  rocks  and  firs.  The  cows  are  feed- 
ing half-way  up  the  Cray,  and  those  that  are  still 
down  here  all  have  great  cow-bells.  You  hear  them 
booming  and  tinkling  all  the  time.  We  are  going  to 
have  a  lot  of  walks,  and  go  up  to  the  chalets  where  they 
make  the  cheeses.  The  rink  is  now  a  tennis  court,  but 
the  people  who  play  there  don't  look  very  interesting 
and  Dad  hasn't  brought  any  things  so  I  don't  think  we 
shall  launch  ourselves  among  them.  There  aren't  many 
people  in  the  hotel  yet — very  different  from  what  it 
was  when  we  were  here.  But  we  like  it,  and  are  going 
to  be  thoroughly  lazy,  and  loll  about  with  books,  except 
when  we  go  for  walks. 

"  Now  I've  got  Dad  all  to  myself,  of  course  I  can 
see.  I  was  a  fool  to  write  what  I  did  from  Paris.  The 
poor  old  darling  had  made  up  his  mind  to  keep  it  all  to 
himself,  and  had  screwed  himself  to  be  extra  merry  and 
bright  with  me,  so  that  I  shouldn't  twig  anything. 
He  did  take  me  in,  but  I  only  saw  him  for  a  few  hours. 
Of  course  he  can't  really  hide  it,  though  he  thinks  he's 
doing  it  beautifully,  poor  lamb!  I  do  believe  I'm  the 
proper  person  to  be  with  him,  Cara  dear.  Perhaps  you 
would  do  it  better,  but  you  can't  be  here,  so  I  hope 
you'll  be  glad  that  I  am,  and  not  think  that  I  only  want 
to  enjoy  myself,  though  I  am  doing  that,  and  it  is 
lovely  to  be  here,  and  with  Dad.  It's  rather  pathetic 
how  he  likes  to  be  always  with  me,  and  I  know  he  is 
glad  that  he  brought  me  here.  When  we  were  reading 
on  the  balcony  this  afternoon,  I  could  see  he  wasn't 
reading  much,  but  every  now  and  then  he  looked  at  me, 


BARBARA  329 

and  once  he  said  how  jolly  it  was  that  we  were  here, 
and  were  going  home  together.  So  I'm  a  sort  of  com- 
fort to  him,  which  I'm  frightfully  glad  of,  and  is  just 
what  I  want  to  be.  I'm  not  sure  I  shan't  try  to  get 
him  to  say  something  later  on.  After  all,  everybody 
knows.  I  hate  her  for  treating  him  like  that,  though  of 
course  I'm  glad  in  a  way.  It  shows  what  she  would 
have  been  like.  She  must  have  made  him  think  that 
she  loved  him,  and  of  course  he  is  bowled  over.  I  heard 
him  walking  up  and  down  the  balcony  last  night.  When 
he  came  into  my  room  this  morning  he  said  that  he  had 
got  up  to  see  the  sun  rise,  but  it  was  quite  dark  when 
I  heard  him.  After  he  had  had  his  petit  dejeuner  he 
went  back  to  bed  and  slept  till  ten  nearly,  which  is  a 
good  thing. 

"  But  you  mustn't  think  he  is  moping.  It  isn't  like 
that  at  all.  He  is  very  cheerful  and  amusing  generally, 
and  we  are  having  a  lovely  time.  I've  only  told  you 
what  I  have  seen  behind  it.  I'm  sure  he  just  wants  to 
forget  all  about  it,  and  I'm  going  to  help  him  the  very 
best  way  I  can.  I  do  love  him.  I  shan't  marry  at  all, 
but  shall  live  at  home  and  look  after  him.  Of  course 
I  don't  blame  you  for  marrying,  darling,  as  you  had 
to.  But  I've  thought  it  over  and  I  don't  care  about 
it  for  myself." 

Barbara  also  wrote  to  Bunting — a  not  too  indulgent 
description  of  the  people  staying  in  the  hotel,  with 
references  to  the  changed  aspect  of  the  country,  and 
to  some  places  that  he  knew. 

"  Dad   is   enjoying   his   holiday,"   she   wrote,   "  and 


330  THE    GRAFTONS 

looks  better  already.  He  was  rather  run  down,  but 
he  is  picking  up  in  this  jolly  air,  and  getting  very  ac- 
tive. He  makes  me  laugh  all  the  time,  he  is  so  pleased 
with  everything.  I  was  rather  a  fool  to  write  to  you 
what  I  did  from  Paris.  I  suppose  I  was  bored  at  not 
being  at  home,  and  got  ideas  into  my  head.  But  when 
you  told  me  what  that  little  ass  Jimmy  said,  I  didn't 
worry  any  more.  I  knew  that  I  was  safe  in  believing 
the  opposite.  Dad  is  very  pleased  at  Ella's  engage- 
ment to  Sir  John  Ambleside,  as  of  course  he  is  very 
fond  of  her,  as  she  has  been  almost  like  one  of  us  to 
him,  and  was  nice  to  him  when  all  of  us  were  away. 
She  has  been  in  love  with  Sir  John  for  months,  but 
couldn't  quite  make  up  her  mind  to  marry  him  when 
she  found  out  he  was  Jimmy's  cousin.  However,  that 
seems  to  be  his  only  drawback,  and  when  Jimmy  grows 
up  he  may  improve.  There's  always  hope." 

Grafton's  letters  were  short,  but  fairly  frequent. 
There  was  no  further  mention  of  Ella  in  them,  but 
there  was  a  good  deal  about  Barbara. 

"  Barbara  is  a  delightful  companion,*9  he  wrote, 
some  days  after  they  had  gone  to  Chateau  d'Oex. 
"  I've  never  had  her  to  myself  so  much  before.  We 
never  bore  one  another,  and  we  talk  about  all  things 
under  the  sun.  She's  a  dear  child,  and  has  developed 
extraordinarily.  There's  a  lot  in  that  investigating 
mind  of  hers,  and  it's  all  beginning  to  come  out.  It 
was  a  good  thing  to  send  her  to  Paris,  though  I'm  glad 
enough  that  the  time  is  over,  and  I  shall  have  her  at 
home  now.  She  says  she  is  going  to  stay  with  me  for 


BARBARA  331 

years  and  years.  But  I  doubt  if  I  shall  keep  the  sort 
of  young  woman  she's  growing  into  for  more  than  two 
or  three  at  the  outside.  However,  they  will  be  happy 
ones,  and  there's  no  reason  why  the  happiness  should 
end  when  she  does  get  married,  bless  her !  " 

One  morning  they  set  out  very  early  to  walk  to  the 
coombe  of  the  Vanil  Noir.  Grafton  carried  a  rucksack 
with  their  lunch,  and  they  walked  slowly,  as  they  had 
learnt  to  do  with  a  long  day's  expedition  before  them. 
The  air  was  deliciously  fresh  and  fragrant,  and  the 
sun  had  not  yet  become  hot. 

They  crossed  pasture  after  pasture  deep  in  flowers, 
and  as  they  slowly  mounted,  the  great  panorama  shifted 
and  changed ;  distant  snowpeaks  lifted  themselves  into 
view,  and  became  new  mountain  ranges;  the  windings 
of  their  own  valley  were  displayed,  and  little  towns  and 
villages  on  its  green  floor  looked  like  scattered  children's 
buildings. 

They  came  to  the  wide  solemn  coombe,  and  went  up 
it  to  the  foot  of  the  mountain.  The  snow  lingered 
here,  sometimes  in  deep  drifts,  among  the  rocks,  but 
almost  every  foot  of  ground  that  had  shaken  off  its 
winter  covering  was  jewelled  with  Alpine  flowers.  It 
was  another  world  they  had  come  to,  above  the  trees  and 
the  coarser  growths,  with  a  sense  of  freedom  and  space 
and  bigness  about  it  that  was  lacking  in  the  lower 
valleys.  The  silence  was  broken  only  by  the  tinkle 
of  the  rivulets  and  the  occasional  shrill  chatter  of  a 
marmotte,  which  they  could  sometimes  descry  sitting 
alert  on  a  distant  rock. 


THE    GRAFTONS 

They  ate  their  lunch  of  sandwiches,  hard-boiled  eggs, 
chocolate,  Gruyere  cheese,  and  oranges,  with  a  bottle 
of  Valais  wine,  and  agreed  that  they  had  never  enjoyed 
a  lunch  more.  Then  they  sat  with  their  backs  against 
a  rock,  while  Grafton  smoked,  and  a  deep  peace  and 
contentment  settled  down  upon  them. 

"  Isn't  it  perfect?  "  said  Barbara,  after  a  time.  "  I 
feel  that  this  is  the  best  that  life  has  to  offer,  Dad. 
I  wonder  how  much  of  that  feeling  is  due  to  being 
rested  and  fed,  after  having  been  rather  tired  and 
rather  hungry." 

"  I  should  think  about  half,"  he  said. 
"  That   only   leaves   half  for  the  scenery,   and  the 
lovely  air  and  the  sunshine,  and  not  being  in  Paris,  and 
being  with  you,  and  looking  forward  to  going  home  as 
the  next  thing.     It  isn't  enough." 

"  And  it  leaves  nothing  at  all  for  being  young,  and 
having  nothing  on  your  mind ;  nothing  at  all  to  worry 
yourself  about.  That's  the  great  advantage  of  being 
young,  which  you  never  realise  till  you're  no  longer 
young.  When  something  good  comes  along,  like  this, 
you  can  enjoy  it  to  the  full." 

"  You've  got  nothing  to  worry  you  now,  have  you, 
Dad?"  she  asked,  after  a  pause. 

"  No,  darling,"  he  said,  after  another.  "  The  way 
is  pretty  clear  ahead  now.  Lots  of  jolly  things  to  be 
done  and  some  quite  nice  people  to  take  an  interest 
in.  You  and  I  will  be  able  to  do  some  of  the  nice 
things  together,  won't  we?" 

"  It  will  be  lovely,"  she  said.     "  We're  doing  one  of 


BARBARA  333 

the  nice  things  now.     It  was  rather  a  good  move,  our 
coming  here  together,  wasn't  it,  Dad?" 

"  Yes,  a  first-class  move.  Do  you  ever  read  Words- 
worth, Barbara?" 

"  Not  more  than  I'm  obliged,  darling.  I've  read 
about  the  tiresome  child  who  couldn't  count,  and  he 
nagged  at  her." 

"  I  don't  mean  that  sort  of  Wordsworth.  Mother 
loved  him.  She  read  me  things  when  we  were  on  our 
honeymoon,  going  to  beautiful  places  together." 

"  Then  I  should  like  to  read  him.  What  sort  of 
things?" 

"  He  makes  you  see  how  beautiful  Nature  is :  I  can't 
explain  it  exactly,  but  if  you  take  it  right  it  has  a  sort 
of  soothing  uplifting  influence  on  you." 

"  Yes,  I've  felt  that  sometimes,  especially  since  we 
went  to  live  at  Abington.  But — perhaps  it's  because 
I'm  too  young — I  don't  think  you  can  enjoy  it  so 
much  alone." 

He  looked  at  her  in  some  surprise.  "  Have  you 
found  that  out  already?"  he  said.  "I  found  it  out 
after  Mother  died.  I  was  frightfully  unhappy.  I 
went  away  by  myself  to  some  of  the  places  we'd  been 
to  together.  But  it  made  me  unhappier  still.  In  fact, 
it  spoilt  the  memory  of  those  places  for  me  till  I  went 
there  again  years  afterwards,  with  Cara  and  B.  Then 
I  got  back  my  first  impression  of  them." 

She  snuggled  up  to  him.  "  Take  me  to  them,  some- 
i>'me,  Daddy,"  she  said. 

"  Yes,  I  will,  darling.     You  were  too  young  then. 


THE    GRAFTONS 

I  think  perhaps  we  might  go  this  autumn.  It  was  in 
September  that  she  and  I  were  married.  How  happy 
we  were !  She  had  planned  out  where  we  were  to  go  to. 
Mostly  out-of-the-way  beautiful  places.  I  suppose  I 
had  been  too  busy  amusing  myself,  with  other  people, 
to  want  to  go  to  places  simply  because  they  were  beau- 
tiful, before.  But  she  taught  me  to  love  the  beauty  of 
Nature,  though  for  a  time  after  she  died  it  did  nothing 
for  me." 

"  Perhaps  it  doesn't  when  you're  unhappy  and  alone. 
Do  you  think  Caroline  loves  it  in  the  same  way  as 
Mother  did,  Daddy?" 

He  thought  for  a  moment.  "  She  gets  it  from  her, 
I  suppose,"  he  said.  "  Perhaps  she  has  it  even  more 
strongly.  She's  going  to  make  it  the  chief  thing  in  her 
life,  you  know,  she  and  Maurice  together.  And  one 
doesn't  feel  that  she  is  wrong  in  doing  it." 

"  Of  course,  she  has  tried  the  other,"  she  said,  after 
a  pause. 

He  smiled  at  her.  "  Are  you  thinking  that  it 
wouldn't  be  enough  for  you?  "  he  asked.  "  I  don't 
think  it  would,  darling;  it  wouldn't  have  been  enough 
for  Mother  and  me — a  refreshment — perhaps  the  best 
sort  of  refreshment,  while  we  were  young,  and  some- 
thing to  come  to  more  and  more  if  we  had  grown  old 
together.  At  any  rate,  you'll  have  your  taste  of  pleas- 
ure, as  Cara  and  B  had  it,  and  you'll  be  right  to  enjoy 
it,  as  they  did.  It  did  neither  of  them  any  harm  and 
it  won't  do  you  any  harm." 

"Why  should  it  do  anybody  harm,  Dad?" 


BARBARA  335 

"  Oh,  well — if  pleasure  were  put  in  the  first  place, 
for  the  whole  of  a  lifetime!  That's  what  you  see  all 
round  you,  among  people  of  our  sort.  It  would  have 
been  more  of  a  danger  for  B  than  for  Caroline.  But  B 
is  all  right  now.  She'll  make  a  good  loving  wife  and 
mother.  She'll  have  a  good  time,  but  she  won't  put 
having  a  good  time  first." 

"  I  should  like  you  to  expound  that  for  me  a  little, 
Daddy ;  for  my  good,  you  know." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  that  I'm  the  best  person  to  ex- 
pound it  to  you,  except  perhaps  that  I've  done  it  a 
bit  too  much  myself.  You  see  when  you  have  enough 
money  to  do  pretty  well  what  you  like,  you  do  rather 
get  into  the  way  of  gratifying  yourself  at  every  turn 
— or  trying  to.  Even  the  good  things  in  life — love 
is  the  best  of  them  all — you're  apt  to  think  more  of 
yourself  than  of  other  people — even  of  the  very  people 
you  love." 

She  thought  this  might  be  the  beginning  of  a  con- 
fidence, and  listened  eagerly  for  more. 

"  I'm  not  sure  that  the  best  thing  for  a  man  isn't 
to  have  something  stiff  to  do,"  he  went  on.  "  I  never 
have  had.  I've  been  too  lucky." 

"  You've  made  all  of  us  happy,  darling." 

"  Well,  that's  something,  isn't  it,  if  I  have?  You've 
all  made  me  happy  too.  Best  not  to  be  always  looking 
out  for  happiness  for  yourself — much  less  pleasure. 
Some  clever  fellow  said  once  that  happiness  only  came 
when  you  weren't  looking  for  it." 

"  I  think  the  best  thing  is  to  do  what  you  can  to 


336  THEGRAFTONS 

make  other  people  happy.  I  don't  mean  in  a  priggish 
sort  of  way — setting  yourself  out  to  do  it — but  be- 
cause you  love  them  and  it  comes  natural  to  you  to 
want  to." 

"  I  believe  you've  hit  upon  the  whole  duty  of  women, 
darling.  It's  what  they  are  here  for.  A  selfish  woman 
always  seems  more  off  the  lines  than  a  selfish  man. 
But  selfishness  is  ugly  everywhere.  You  can't  always 
see  it  in  yourself,  but  when  you  do  you  had  better  get 
rid  of  it  as  quickly  as  possible." 

"  You're  not  selfish." 

"  Most  men  are.  I  don't  think  I'm  much  different 
from  other  fellows.  But  I  like  you  to  think  I  am." 

"  You  know,  Daddy,  I've  been  thinking  lately  that 
it's  rather  like  what  you  said  just  now — you  mustn't 
grab  at  things,  and  it  may  not  be  altogether  good  for 
you  to  be  able  to  get  everything  you  want.  By  far 
the  nicest  of  the  girls  you  sent  me  to  Paris  to  consort 
with  is  Nora  O'Brien,  whom  I  told  you  about.  Her 
people  are  very  hard  up,  and  one  of  her  aunts  is 
educating  her.  The  others  are  all  rich — at  least  their 
people  are — and  the  richest  are  the  horridest,  except 
Katie  Brown,  whose  father  is  a  millionaire;  and  she 
laughs  at  it,  and  would  be  just  as  happy  if  he  were 
poor.  I  think  we  are  all  so  nice  because  we  really  love 
each  other,  and  that's  the  best  of  all  the  things  we 
have  at  home;  though  it's  very  jolly  having  a  beautiful 
house  and  lots  of  friends  too." 

"  Yes,  it's  love  that  makes  the  world  go  round, 
wherever  you  find  it.  It  gives  you  a  reason  for  en- 


BARBARA  337 

joying  yourself  too.  At  least  it  does  when  you've  a 
young  woman  of  nearly  eighteen,  soon  to  be  launched 
on  the  world.  I  hope  you'll  enjoy  yourself,  darling, 
when  it  comes  to  the  time  for  you  to  go  out  and 
about." 

"  I  shall  like  best  being  at  home  with  you,  Daddy.'* 

"  Well,  you'll  be  at  home  a  lot  too,  I  hope.  But 
you  must  have  your  fling,  and  see  what  the  world  is 
like  all  round." 

"  I  think  I  shall  like  it,  you  know.  Caroline  did, 
though  she  got  tired  of  it  afterwards." 

"  I  don't  think  it  was  so  much  that  she  got  tired  of 
it  as  that  she  found  something  else  she  liked  better  to 
put  in  its  place.  Oh,  I'm  happy  about  Caroline  and  B 
both.  And  about  you  too,  darling.  And  about  Bunt- 
ing, who  is  growing  into  a  very  good  sort  of  man.  In 
fact  I've  nothing  to  grouse  about  at  all,  except  that  I 
can't  have  the  last  five  and  twenty  years  all  over  again. 
Now  I  think  it's  time  to  be  getting  down  to  our  happy 
valley." 


THE    END 


